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lU  LAM)  [POWERS^ 

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S/jtlAHCGVftlLilMOYNF, 

WERNER'S  * 
READINGS® 
RECITATION 

No.  Character 
3  Sketches 

v 

111  J  hlvJi  \ 

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EDG  AR  S  WERNER 

■  '    •    -      NEW  YORK 

NEW  YORK 

EDGARS.  WERNER  &  CO. 

PUBLISHERS 

Copyright,  1891,  by  Edgar  S.  Werner 


ACTING  MONOLOGUBS 

BY  LIVINGSTON  RUSSELL. 
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Romantic,  humorous  monologue  for  a  woman.  A  young  woman,  who  has 
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AN  IMPECUNIOUS  ACTOR.  Price,  25  cents. 

Humorous  monologue  for  a  man,  describing  the  tribulations  of  a  stage- 
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THE  DEATH  DREAM.  Price.  25  cents. 

Intensely  dramatic  monologue  for  a  man,  from  the  play  "The  Bells,"  played 
by  Sir  Henry  Irving.  An  inn-keeper,  who  is  also  the  burgomaster,  murders 
a  guest  for  gold  and  burns  the  body  in  a  lime  kiln.  On  his  daughter's  wed- 
ding night  he  in  a  dr«am  goes  through  all  the  minutiae  of  the  murder, 
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misses  the  presence  of  her  lover,  and  has  a  fit  of  jealousy  and  of  the  blues. 
Ends  happily.  Affords  opportunity  for  varied  expressional  work. 

FOR  GOD  AND  COUNTRY.  Price,  25  cent* 

Historical,  patriotic,  and  tragic  monologue  for  a  woman.  1  *.»,ed  Cross  nurse 
describes  the  scenes  on  the  battle-field  at  Santiago.  Herers  to  Gen.  Wheeler 
and  to  Col.  Roosevelt.  Unusually  elaborate  directions  for  producing  various 
war-effects,  and  full  business.  (Every  reciter  should  have  this  monologue 
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4.  patriotic  monologue  for  a  woman.  A  dramatic  setting  of  incidents  con- 
nected with  the  patriotic  daring  of  Paulina  de  Ruiz  Gonzales— the  Joan  of 
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William  Handy,  living  with  friends  but  considered  41  just  like  one  of  the 
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hostess  on  a  call.  He  promises  himself  a  quiet  evening  of  intellectual  en- 
joyment, but  is  aroused  first  by  the  frantic  bawling  of  their  baby,  by  the 
entrance  of  the  coalman  and  by  the  cries  of  their  pet  cat,  dog  and  parrot. 
When  upon  the  verge  of  nervous  collapse,  his  friends  return.  Intei  eely 
humorous. 

Any  of  the  above  sent  post-paid,  on  receipt  of  the  price,  by  the  publishers, 
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WERNERS 

Readings  and  Recitations, 

No.  3. 

ORIGINAL  CHARACTER  SKETCHES 

BY 

GEORGE  KYLE 

AND 

MARY   KYLE  DALLAS. 


EDGAR  S,  WERNER  &  COMPANY 

NEW  YORK 

Copyright,  1891,  by  Edgar  S.  Werner 


/ 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

Alphabetical  Sermon. — George  Kyle   28 

Anatomical  Tragedian,  The.— George  Kyle   9 

At  the  Altar.— Mary  Kyle  Dallas    113 

At  the  Rug  Auction. — Henry  Baldwin    124 

Aunt  Betsy  on  Marriage. — Mary  Kyle  Dallas   46 

Aunty  Doleful's  Visit.— Mary  Kyle  Dallas   81 

Aurelia's  Valentine. — Mary  Kyle  Dallas   121 

Bessie's  Dilemma. — Mary  Kyle  Dallas                                                   .  117 

Billy's  Pets.— George  Kyle  .   14 

Broken  Dreams.— Mary  Kyle  Dallas   36 

Burglar's  Grievances,  The. — George  Kyle   3 

Catching  the  Cat. — Margaret  Vandegrift  ,   170 

Caught.— K.  E.  Barry   itft) 

Classical  Music. — George  Kyle   29 

Cleopatra's  Protest.— Edward  L.  Keyes   17") 

Coriauna's  Wedding. — Mary  Kyje  Dallas   74 

Dawn  on  the  Irish  Coast  —John  Locke   140 

Delancey  Stuyvesaut  and  the  Horse-Car. — George  Kyle   5 

Dentist  and  Patient.— George  Kyle   28 

Different  Ways  of  Saying  Yes   13:5 

Difficult  Love-making. — Will  Carleton   131 

Dream,  A.— Mary  Kyle  Dallas    Ill 

Dunderburg  Jenkins's    Forty- Graff  "  Album.— George  Kyle   24 

Dutifuls,  The.— Mary  Kyle  Dallas   86 

Father  Paul.— Mary  Kyle  Dallas   33 

Fashionable  Hospitality. — Mary  Kyle  Dallas   92 

Fashionable  Vacation,  A.— M;iry  Kyle  Dallas  ,   51 

Felinaphone,  The.— George  Kyle     26 

Fireman,  The. — R.  T.  Conrad   152 

Fisherman's  Wife,  The   160 

>  iii 

5 


iv  CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

Fortune-Teller  and  Maiden. — Mrs.  Mary  L.  Gaddess   158 

Frightened  Woman,  A. — Mary  Kyle  Dallas   99 

Good  Little  Boy  and  the  Bad  Little  Boy,  The.— George  Kyle  . .    11 

Great  Man,  A. — Mary  Kyle  Dallas   120 

Her  Fifteen  Minutes. — Tom  Masson   155 

Her  First  Steam-Engine.  —  Mary  Kyle  Dallas   73 

Her  Heart  was  False  and  Mine  was  Broken. — Mary  Kyle  Dallas   115 

Her  Preference   182 

High  Art  and  Economy. —George  Kyle    20 

Hoolahan  on  Education. — George  Kyle   8 

How  Salvator  Won. — Ella  Wheeler  Wilcox   156 

In  Amity  of  Soul.— Mary  Kyle  Dallas   10 1 

Innocent  Drummer,  The.— Recitation  Lesson-Helps  by  F.  W.  Adams   139 

Introduction  to  Part  I. — George  Kyle   2 

Japanese  Wedding,  A. — Arranged  by  Sara  S.  Rice   183 

Juggler,  The.— George  Kyle   27 

Knight  and^the  Lady,  The. — Robertson  Trowbridge   164 

Legend  of  Arabia,  A   173 

Legend  of  the  Willow-Pat  tern  Plate   165 

Le  Mauvais  Larron. — Graham  R.  Tomson   161 

Love's  Reminiscences.  — Mary  Kyle  Dallas   118 

Miaouletta.— Mary  Kyle  Dallas   102 

Mothers  and  Fathers:  Two  Pictures.— Mary  Kyle  Dallas   43 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Popperman   150 

Mrs.  Britzenhoeffer's  Troubles. — George  Kyle                                   . .  .  22 

Mrs.  Pickles  wants  to  be  a  Man. — Mary  Kyle  Dallas   91 

Mrs.  Slowly  at  the  Hotel.— Mary  Kyle  Dallas   59 

Mrs.  Smith  Improves  Her  Mind. — Mary  Kyle  Dallas   67 

Mrs.  Tubbs  and  Political  Economy. — Mary  Kyle  Dallas   45 

Mrs.  Winkle's  Grandson. — Mary  Kyle  Dallas   52 

My  First  School   137 

My  Love   168 

My  Sweetheart's  Baby  Brother.— Mary  Kyle  Dallas   94 

"N"  for  Nannie  and  "B"  for  Ben.— Mary  Kyle  Dallas    110 

Nettie  Budd  before  her  Second  Ball.— Mary  Kyle  Dallas   79 

New  Version  of  a  Certain  Historical  Dialogue,  A.— Robert  J.  Burdette. . .  129 

Old,  Old  Story,  The.— Mary  Kyle  Dallas   114 

On  the  Beach   144 

Out  of  the  Bottle.— Mary  Kyle  Dallas   40 

Pat's  Perplexity     148 

Paying  her  Fare.— Mary  Kyle  Dallas   68 

Professor  Gunter  on  Marriage. — George  Kyle   17 

Rebecca's  Revenge. — Mary  Kyle  Dallas   71 


CONTENTS.  v 

PAGE 

Sad  Fate  of  a  Policeman,  The   128 

Scene  in  a  Street  Car. — Mary  Kyle  Dallas  ,   70 

Simon  Solitary's  Ideal  Wife.— Mary  Kyle  Dallas   85 

Slowly s  at  the  Photographer's,  The. — Mary  Kyle  Dallas   47 

Slowlys  at  the  Theatre,  The. — Mary  Kyle  Dallas   53 

Statue's  Story,  The.— Mary  Kyle  Dallas   37 

Street  Cries   152 

Suppose.— T.  H.  Robertson   132 

Thikhed's  New  Year's  Call   148 

Thoughts  at  a  Party. — Mary  Kyle  Dallas   83 

To  A.  M.  Olar:  An  Old  Man's  Memories.— Mary  Kyle  Dallas   116 

Tragedy  at  Dodd's  Place,  The.— Mary  Kyle  Dallas   63 

Tried.—  Lulah  Ragsdale  ,   178 

Twilight  Pastoral,  A   135 

Two  Opinions  of  One  House. — Mary  Kyle  Dallas   98 

War's  Sacrifice    145 

What  He  Would  Give  Up   136 

What  the  Crickets  Said.— Mary  Kyle  Dallas   100 

"  You  Git  Upi"-"  Joe"  Kerr. . . .  "   163 


INDEX  TO  AUTHORS. 


Page 

Baldwin,  Henry     124 

Burdette,  Robert  J   129 

Carleton,  Will    131 

Conrad,  R.  T   153 

Dallas,  Mary  Kyle.    All  of  part  II  31-122 

Gaddess,  Mrs.  Mary  L   158 

Kerr,  Joe    163 

Keyes,  Edward  L   175 

Kyle,  George.    All  of  Part  1  1-30 

Locke,  John    146 

Masson,  Tom    155 

Ragsdale,  Lulah    178 

Robertson,  T.  H   132 

Tomson,  Graham  R   161 

Trowbridge,   Robertson    164 

Vandegrift,  Margaret    170 


Werner's  Readings  No.  3 — page  vi 


CHARACTER  SKETCHES 

WRITTEN  A.  N  D   SUCCESSFULLY  RENDERED 

By  GEORGE  KYLE. 


Werner's  Readings  No.  3 — page  1. 


\ 


INTRODUCTION  TO  PART  I. 


'""PHE  various  recitations  contained  in  the  following  pages,  what- 
ever may  be  their  real  merit  or  want  of  merit,  have  at  least 
one  advantage  that  will  commend  them  to  the  performer,  whether 
professional  or  amateur,  viz.,  they  have  each  and  all  been  tried, 
not  "  on  a  dog,"  but  on  audiences  of  every  sort  and  quality  except 
the  lowest,  and  have  all  proved  successful. 

They  have  each  formed  a  part  of  my  repertoire  Avhen  I  was  on 
the  platform  a  few  years  ago,  and  were  all  subject  to  a  simple  but 
effective  rule: 

Whenever  a  new  piece  failed  to  "  catch  on  "  or  receive  a  hearty 
encore,  I  cast  it  from  me  into  the  outer  darkness  of  forgetfulness 
and  oblivion,  ana  those  to  be  found  here  are  only  such  as  I  retained 
for  their  usefulness  in  my  business. 

Those  who  have  been  so  kind  as  to  speak  favorably  of  my  plat- 
form work  have  frequently  asked  me  what  course  of  study  I  have 
pursued.  To  such  I  have  always  answered,  that,  mere  vocal  cul- 
ture aside,  there  is  only  one  true  school  for  a  successful  entertainer, 
"  nature." 

Learn  your  lines  thoroughly,  con  them  until  they  are  as  familiar 
as  your  own  name  or  the  letters  of  the  alphabet,  and  then  try  to  • 
feel  what  you  are  saying.  Watch  the  greatest  actors  or  the  most 
popular  comedians,  and  you  will  find  that  naturalness  and  not  any 
artificial  trick  is  the  true  source  of  their  success  and  their  superi- 
ority over  the  lesser  performers  about  them. 

Be  natural,  speak  as  you  would  to  your  own  mother  or  brother, 
and  you  will  find  your  audience  warming  to  you ;  but  strut  and 
affect  unnatural  vocal  tricks,  strained  attitudes  and  gestures,  and 
you  will  freeze  your  audience  so  that  even  a  good  thing  will  not 
arouse  or  please  them.  Yours  sincerely, 

GEORGE  KYLE. 


Readings  and  Recitations. 

No  3. 


THE  BURGLAR'S  GRIEVANCES. 

T  AM  a  decent,  hard-working  persecuted  man.    When  I  was  a 
little  kid,  so  inches  high,  folks  used  to  say  to  me  mother: 
"  Give  your  boy  a  good  trade  and  then  he  won't  need  to  ax  no  odds 
ev  nobody." 

Well,  she  done  it  best  she  knowed  how.  She  put  me  'prentiss  to 
a  first-class  practical  burglar  fer  to  learn  de  perfession.  Well,  I 
stayed  me  time  out  and  worked  hard  and  steady,  and  got  all  de 
points  down  fine,  and  what  was  de  good?  She  might  as  well  ev 
made  a  writer  er  a  playactor  ev  me  fer  all  de  good  ever  I  got  out 
ev  it.  People  is  always  puttin'  stumblin'-blocks  in  me  way  and 
hinderin'  me. 

Why,  only  last  week  I  was  a-lookin'  fer  work  in  a  gentleman's 
house  up -town,  and  I  am  always  keerful  not  to  disturb  no  one 
when  I  am  at  work;  and  I'd  just  raised  de  scuttle-door  as  easy  and 
climbed  down  de  ladder  as  quiet  as  a  mouse,  and  was  just  steppin' 
across  de  garret  floor,  when  all  ev  a  suddin  I  stumbled  over  soine- 
thin'  in  de  dark  and  barked  me  shin  dreadful.  And  what  do  you 
tink  ? — ef  they  hadn't  gone  and  left  a  coal-scuttle  right  there  fer 
folks  to  tumble  over! 

I  call  dat  culpubble  negazince;  dat's  what  I  call  it.  Why,  I 
might  a  broke  a  arm  er  a  leg  and  been  a  cripple  and  a  burden  on  de 
community  fer  de  rest  of  me  life,  and  den  de  racket  I  made  woke 
de  old  man  up  and  I  had  to  shoot  him.    See  de  unnecessary  loss 

3 


4  WERNERS  READINGS 

ev  life  all  brought  about  by  leavin'  tings  around  fer  folks  to  stum- 
ble over. 

Den  dere's  anodder  ting — dat's  de  false  appearances  people  puts 
on.  De  holler  French  jewelry,  de  Humphry  dimon's,  de  filled-case 
watches — de  country's  flooded  wid  'em.  Just  see  how  it  affects  my 
perfession.  You  git  your  eye  on  a  crib — I  mean  ter  say  a  'stablish- 
ment.  De  gals  is  all  fixed  up  fine,  de  men's  all  got  watches,  an 
dere's  silver  on  de  buffit. 

Well,  you  get  in  wid  de  cook  to  see  how  de  rooms  lays  (and  ice- 
cream is  high  dis  year).  You  fix  it  wid  de  cop  to  be  on  de  odder 
end  ev  his  two-mile  beat,  and  dat  costs  money,  not  to  mention  de 
tools  and  de  time  and  de  indianuty,  and  maybe  after  you've 
cracked  de  crib  all  you  get  is  a  whole  lot  of  bogus  swag  dat  ain't 
wort  carry  in'  home.  It's  tough,  I  tell  you;  it  takes  all  de  ambition 
out  ev  a  feller. 

Den  dere's  anodder  ting — dat's  de  late  hours  people  keeps,  sit  tin' 
up  and  sittin'  up  and  de  lights  a  blazin'  and  to  all  hours  ev  de 
night,  and  de  poor  burglar  waitin'  out  dere  in  de  rain,  maybe  in 
de  snow,  feelin'  so  lonely  and  gettin'  his  death  a  cold  with  de  plum- 
bago into  his  back  er  layin'  de  seeds  ev  a  consumption,  anil  deir. 
folks  inside  a  sittin'  up  and  a— oh,  it's  just  disgustin'  how  selfish 
people  is. 

But  dere's  just  one  more  ting  I  want  ter  speak  about  before  V 
leave  you,  and  dat's  burglar-alarms.  What  do  you  want  burglar- 
alarms  fer  ?  Why  don't  yer  have  doctor-alarms,  and  shoemaker- 
alarms,  and  bank-president-alarms?  A  burglar  is  only  workin'  at 
de  trade  he  was  brought  up  into.  Now  just  see  how  it  affects  a 
feller.  You  come  in  de  quiet  ev  de  night,  maybe  de  moon  is 
shinin',  and  you  take  your  jimmy — I  mean  ter  say  your  Jamei^ 
and  you  prize  open  a  back  shutter  say.  Den  you  slip  back  de 
ketch  ev  de  sash  and  begin  to  reeze  de  winder  softly,  just  little*  by 
little  so's  not  to  disturb  no  one;  and  de  moon  shines  down  on  yer, 
and  yer  soul  felt  at  rest  wid  itself  like,  when  all  ev  a  suddin— 
bang!  comes  a  darned  old  burglar-alarm. 

I  tell  you  what  it  is,  if  a  feller's  nerves  is  weak  er  his  heart's 
affected,  it  might  give  him  a  turn  he'd  never  get  over;  and  ] 


AND  RECITATIONS. 


5 


wanter  say  right  now,  dat  if  I  can't  work  at  me  trade  widout  bein' 
bullyragged  and  badgered  and  hindered  at  every  step,  Fll  leave  it, 
and  go  inV.  de  city  government  er  get  a  charter  to  lay  volcaners 
under  Broadway,  and  den  yez  el  be  sorry  yez  didn't  gimme  a 
chance  to  work  at  de  trade  I  was  .brought  up  into. 


DELANCEY  STUYVASANT  AND  THE 
HORSE-CAR. 

T  WONDER  why  fellahs  ever  wide  in  horse-cars,  fellahs  do  you 
know?  Some  fellahs  tell  me  they  wide  in  the  horse-cars  evewy 
day.  Say,  do  you  know,  if  I  were  to  wide  in  a  horse-car  evewy  day 
my  fewneral  would  occur  in  a  week,  I  assure  you. 

I  once  wode  in  a  horse-car,  did  it  for  a  lark,  you  know.  I  made 
a  bet  at  the  club,  with  another  fellah.  I  said  [heroically],  "I  will 
wide  in  a  horse-car."  So  I  went  to  the  corner  where  I  had  observed 
these  vehicles  and  called  one  of  them.  I  said  :  "  Horse-car,  horse- 
car!"  but  not  one  of  them  came,  don't-cher-know.  And  then  I 
observed  that  fellahs  who  wode  in  horse-cars  wan  after  them,  don't- 
cher-know,  played  tag  with  them  as  it  were,  like  the  howwid  little 
children  when  they  come  out  of  school.  So  I  pursued  one  of,  the 
strange  equipages  and  at  last  overtook  it. 

Well,  when  I  had  clambered  upon  the  wear  portion  of  the  dwedful 
contwivance,  I  was  vewy  much  fatigued  and  out  of  bweath;  and  as 
I  pawsed  to  wecover  myself  an  official  decowated  with  strips  of 
various  colored  card-board,  said  to  me  quite  woodly,  "  Come,  step 
inside  and  make  woom  for  the  ladies." 

I  could  see  no  ladies,  weally,  only  a  number  of  female  persons  of 
the  lower  orders.  I  hesitated,  when  some  one  inside  the  vehicle 
called  out  quite  loudly,  "Come  up  to  the  stove,"  and  quite  a  warm 
day  in  October,  too,  don't-cher-know,  and  no  such  appawatus  in  the 
vehicle,  I  assure  you. 

When  at  last  I  forced  myself  inside  the  car,  I  found  it  quite  noi- 
some, quite  squalid  don't-cher-know  ;  and  looking  about  me  I  could 


6 


WERNER'S  READINGS 


see  no  place  to  sit  down.  Evewy  seat  was  occupied,  and  a  large 
number  of  persons  were  dangling  from  stwaps  beside.  I  turned  to 
the  conductor  fellah  and  said,  "  Where  shall  I  sit  ?  The  seats 
appear  to  be  occupied  by — persons." 

The  conductor  fellah  answered  quite  woodly,  "You  may  sit  upon 
your  thumb,  if  you  please."  He  did,  indeed;  and  when  I  wemon- 
stwated  with  him  upon  the  impropriety  of  telling  a  gentleman  to 
sit  upon  his  thumb,  he  told  me  to  seek  a  place  of  eternal  punish- 
ment, just  fahncy! 

Well,  at  last  I  obtained  a  seat,  and  the  moment  I  did  so  the  con- 
ductor fellah  stwode  up  to  me  and  pwesented  a  nickel-plated  we- 
volver  at  my  bweast  and  demanded  his  fare, — some  twifling  sum. 
I  assured  him  that  violence  was  not  necessary,  and  that  I  was  quite 
willing  to  pay  him  without  compulsion.  Still  arfter  I  had  paid  him 
he  pulled  the  twigger  ;  but,  instead  of  its  going  bang!  as  I  had  ex- 
pected, it  only  went  ping!  don't-cher-know,  and  no  one  excepting 
myself  in  the  vehicle  seemed  in  the  least  alarmed. 

Well,  as  I  wecovered  from  my  smpwise,  I  looked  about  me,  and 
weally  it  was  quite  howwid,  don't-cher-know.  Wight  opposite  me  sat 
persons  of  the  labowing  classes,  with  what  I  pwesume  to  be  lime  on 
their  boots,  and  tin  cans,  which  for  some  mystewious  purpose  they 
caAvied  in  their  hands  ;  and  there  was  a  female  person  with  fish,  and 
a  colored  person  with  soiled  clothing  in  a  large  basket,  and  a  German 
person  with  ancient  cheese  in  a  bwown  paper.  But  next  me  there 
sat  a  fellah  who  had  been  eating  garlic,  and  weally,  it  annoyed  me 
exceedingly.  Now  I  had  wead  somewhere — indeed  I  think  it  was 
in  the  vehicle  itself — that  if  any  fellah  annoyed  another  fellah  in  the 
horse-car,  he  must  speak  to  the  conductor  fellah ;  so  I  addressed  that 
vewy  unpleasant  official,  saying, 

"  I  say,  conductor  fellah,  I  wish  you  would  wemove  this  person  : 
he  has  been  eating  garlic  quite  wecently,  and  it  annoys  me  exceed- 
ingly." 

The  fellah  put  his  fist  under  my  nose  and  wemarked,  "  You  will 
eat  that  in  a  few  moments  if  you  are  not  careful!" 

I  turned  to  him  and  wemonstwated.  I  said,  "  My  dear  fellah,  you 
must  be  aware  that  you  have  been  eating  garlic,  and  that  it  makes 


AND  RECITATIONS.  7 

you  highly  objectionable  and  unpleasant  to  those  about  you,  and 
that  you  weally  ought  to  wesign — get  out,  don't-cher-know."  One  of 
the  labowing  persons  opposite  called  out  most  woodly,  "  Oh,  put  a 
head  on  him,  Bill  and  the  other  added,  "Go  on;  push  his  face 
in." 

A  moment's  weflection  convinced  me  that  these  wemarks  were 
colloquialisms  of  the  lower  order  referring  to  a  personal  attack,  so  I 
considered  that  in  case  of  a  personal  attack  I  might  weceive  some 
contusion  or  other  injury  which  would  not  impwove  my  personal 
appear  wance,  so  I  turned  to  the  fellah  and  apologized.  I  said,  "1 
beg  your  pardon,  Fm  sure  ;  I  was  not  aware  that  it  was  customawy 
Ho  eat  garlic  in  the  horse-cars,  don't-cher-know  ;"  and  he  appeared 
mollified. 

Well,  at  last  a  most  dwedful  thing  occurred.  A  female  person, 
an  Iwish  female  person,  entered  the  car  and  stood  wight  before  me. 
She  had  a  soiled  baby  in  her  arms  and  the  baby  held  a  bit  of  candy 
in  one  of  its  sticky  hands  and  an  owange  in  the  other.  I  was  just 
wegarding  the  infant,  and  wondering  why  persons  of  the  lower 
orders  were  allowed  to  have  such  dirty  babies,  don't-cher-know — why 
Mr.  Bury  or  Mr.  Seary,  or  some  one  didn't  interfere  and  put  a  stop 
to  it ;  when,  before  I  could  compweehend  her  intention,  she  put  the 
dwedful  baby  wight  down  upon  my  knees,  wemarking  as  she  did 
so,  "  Howld  the  choild  till  I  git  me  money  out."  The  awful 
infant  gwasped  my  scarf  in  one  hand  and  my  eye-glass  in  the  other, 
and  wemarked,  "  Daddy."    Evewy  one  in  the  car  laughed. 

I  dwopped  the  dwedful  infant  on  the  floor,  wemarking  as  I  did 
so,  "Conductor,  allow  me  to  alight  from  this  infamous  vehicle;  1 
cannot  endure  it  a  moment  longer."  And  what  do  you  think  the 
conductor  fellah  said: 

"Come,  huwwy  up,  don't  keep  us  waiting  all  day";"  and  when  I 
wemonstwated  with  him  upon  the  impwopwietv  of  telling  a  gentle- 
man to  huwwy  up,  he  threw  me  off  the  car.    Just  fahncy ! 

That  is  the  only  time  I  ever  wode  in  a  horse-car. 

I  wonder  why  fellahs  ever  do  wide  in  horse-cars.  I  should  think 
they  would  pwefer  cabs. 


8 


WERNERS  READINGS 


HOOLAHAN  ON  EDUCATION. 

T  A  DIES  AND  GENTLEMEN  :  Allow  me  to  present  to  you  Mr, 
Michael  Hoolahan,  a  member  of  the  Quarryman's  Society, 
who  will  repeat  his  valuable  remarks  upon  education,  which  were 
received  with  such  enthusiasm  at  Hibernia  Hill  on  the  evening  of 
the  seventeenth  of  March  last.    [Change  face  and  manner.] 

Quarry min  and  Rockblasters  and  all  others  here  assimbled: — 
This  has  been  a  grand  day,  it  has  been  a  glorious  day„  The  whalin' 
and  march  in'  and  counter-march  in'  of  the  Hohokobolareny  Society, 
of  St.  Marks'  Society,  of  the  St.  Bridget's  Society,  of  the  St.  Luke's' 
Society,  of  the  Macacracara  Conceptra,  Society  of  the  Ancient 
Ordher  of  Hibernians,  of  the  Father  Matthew,  T.  A.  B.  No.  one, 
two,  three,  four,  five,  six,  seven,  eight,  nine,  ten,  eleven,  twelve, 
thirteen,  fourteen,  fifteen,  sixteen  [choke  and  cough]  ;  but  above 
all  and  before  all  and  snparior  to  all,  the  Quarrymin  and  Rock- 
blaster  Protective  and  Benevolent  Society. 

But  it  is  not  for  self-ugratulation  or  the  like  of  that  that  we  are 
assimbled  here  this  evenin'.  No,  my  frinds,  but  for  a  few  words 
upon  the  subject  of  iddication.  Iddication,  quarrymin  and  rock- 
blasters  and  all  others  here  assimbled.  Oi  moight  remarruk  in 
the  wurruds  of  the  most  fameous  of  Irish  poets,  William  Shake- 
speare be  name,  in  the  original  tongue  which  was  the  Gaelic, 
"  Hohoken  der  holler  gush  gomorrikin  de  blist,"  which  translated 
into  the  English  would  rade:  [pauses]  Will — m— m — iddication, 
there  is  nothin'  like  it  fur  the  ould,  the  young  or  the  middlifi' 
aged,  quarrymin  and  rockblasters,  and  all  others  here  assimbled. 

Oi  say  to  yez  all,  git  iddication,  larn  your  childer  iddication,  lam 
thim  biology,  which  traits  of  plants  and  how  they  grow;  larn  thim 
chimistery,  which  dales  with  numbers  and  the  combinations 
thereof;  larn  thim  bo-taney,  which  dales  wid  the  interior  construc- 
tion of  mankind  and  similar  subjects;  larn  thim  ostrology,  which 
infarms  thim  of  the  rapid  transit  of  Vanus  and  the  revolution  of 
the  wurruld  upon  its  axle-tree;  and  larn  thim  conkerology  and  ois- 
terology  and  bummorology,  and  a-— um — m,  a — in  fact  all  the  ologies 


AND  RECITATIONS. 


9 


and  all  the  sciences,  and  in  all  manners  and  on  all  occasions  give 
thim  iddication,  quarrymin  and  rockblasters  and  all  others  here 
assimbled. 

One  point  as  to  the  advantages  of  iddication  before  oi  lave  yez. 
Oi  cam  to  this  country  ineself  a  poor  boy  of  fourteen,  twinty  years 
ago,  and  now  at  thage  of  fifty-sivin,  oi  am  what  oi  am  [pause  for 
effect  ;  goes  on  impressively].  And  what  med  me  what  oi  am  ?  Id- 
dication, iddication,  quarrymin  and  rockblasters  and  all  others 
here  assimbled, 


THE  ANATOMICAL  TRAGEDIAN. 

T  ADIES  AND  GENTLEMEN:— I  presume  you  have  all  heard 
of  my  great  and  celebrated  master  and  predecessor,  Delsarte, 
whose  analysis  of  the  dramatic  art  has  elevated  the  work  of  the 
actor  almost  into  an  exact  science,  and  my  intention  upon  this  occa- 
sion is  to  give  you  in  a  condensed  form  the  outlines  of  his  great 
system. 

Every  human  passion  or  emotion  is  expressed  in  the  face  and  form 
by  the  flexion  and  extension  of  certain  muscles,  and  by  no  other 
means. 

The  passion  of  love,  for  instance,  is  presented  by  drawing  up  the 
corners  of  the  mouth  by  means  of  the  grinuric  muscles,  placing 
both  the  hands  upon  the  heart,  turning  in  the  toes,  and  opening  and 
shutting  the  eyes  rapidly  by  means  of  the  winkaious  nerves,  thus. 
\  Illustrates.'] 

The  emotion  of  fear  is  simulated  by  opening  the  mouth  to  its 
fullest  extent,  turning  the  eyes  as  far  as  possible  to  the  right  or  left, 
violently  oscillating  the  knock-kneeic  bones,  rapidly  vibrating  the 
hands  with  fingers  all  spread  wide  so  as  to  present  the  motion  of  a 
fish's  tail,  thus.  [Illustrates.] 

The  passion  of  jealousy  is  represented  by  grasping  the  chin  with 
the  graburic  bones  of  the  left  hand,  and  the  left  elbow  in  those  of 
the  right  hand,  turning  in  the  toes,  working  the  jaws  by  means  of 
the  chew-glewic  muscles  and  fixing  the  eyes  upon  the  bridge  of  the 
nose,  thus.  [Illustrates.] 


10 


WERNER'S  READINGS 


Grief  is  most  effectively  expressed  by  turning  the  back  toward  the 
audience,  pressing  both  hands  over  the  eyes,  resting  the  weight  upon 
one  limb,  bowing  the  head  and  regularly  raising  and  lowering  the 
shoulders  by  means  of  the  shruguric  muscles,  thus.  [Illustrates.] 

Scorn  or  contempt  is  depicted  by  folding  the  arms,  drawing  down 
the  corners  of  the  mouth,  wrinkling  up  the  nose  by  means  of  the 
bad-smellic  muscles,  and  fixing  the  eyes  steadily  upon  the  floor 
before  you,  or  upon  the  feet  of  your  adversary,  thus.  [Illustrates.] 

Resignation  is  best  expressed  by  crossing  the  arms  upon  the  breast, 
raising  the  head,  drawing  down  the  corners  of  the  mouth,  and  rolling 
up  the  eyes  by  means  of  the  sick-catic  muscles,  thus.  [Illustrates.] 

Deep  thought  or  meditation  is  depicted  by  placing  the  fore-finger 
of  the  right  hand  upon  the  thinkuric  bone  of  the  forehead  just 
beside  the  right  eye,  throwing  up  the  head  at  an  angle  of  forty-five 
degrees,  with  the  face  turned  toward  the  left,  wrinkling  up  the 
forehead  by  means  of  the  frownuric  muscles  and  stretching  forth 
the  left  hand  as  though  to  ward  off  some  object,  such  as  a  small  boy 
or  a  bicycle,  thus.  [Illustrates.] 

But  I  will  best  illustrate  the  great  advantages  of  the  Delsartean 
system  by  a  selection  from  one  of  Shakespeare's  masterpieces. 

I  have  often  regretted  the  fact  that  Shakespeare  was  removed 
from  among  us  by  death,  as  his  early  demise  lost  him  the  oppor- 
tunity of  witnessing  my  performances  of  his  work,  but  we  may  hope 
that  from  his  happy  abode  above  he  may  look  down  with  satisfac- 
tion upon  my  rendition  of  the  creatures  of  his  genius,  happy  in 
knowing  that  at  last  his  work  has  received  full  justice. 

hamlet's  soliloquy. 

To  be,  or  not  to  be?  that  is  the  question.  [Deep  thought  or  medi- 
tation.]* 

Whether  'tis  nobler  in  the  mind,  to  suffer  the  slings  [throw  sling] 
and  arrows  [draw  bow]  of  outrageous  fortune,  or  to  take  arms  against 
a  sea  of  troubles,  [stiff  military  attitude,  as  with  a  gun]  and,  by 
opposing,  end  them  ? 

To  die  ;  [pantomime  of  hanging  /]  to  sleep  no  more, — and,  by  a 

[*  Whenever  an  emotion  is  men  lion  jd  the  performer  should  assume  the  at- 
titude and  expression  described  in  the  burlesque  lecture.] 


AND  RECITATIONS. 


11 


sleep  to  say  we  end  the  heartache,  and  the  thousand  natural  shocks 
that  flesh  is  heir  to,  'tis  a  consummation  devoutly  to  be  wished. 
To«die  ;  to  sleep — to  sleep?  perchance  to  dream,  [picture  horror'] 
ay,  there's  the  rub  ;  for  in  that  sleep  of  death  what  dreams  may 
come,  when  we  have  shuffled  off  this  mortal  coil,  [taking  off  coat] 
must  give  us  pause  [picture  paws].  There's  the  respect  that  makes 
calamity  of  so  long  life.  For  who  would  bear  the  whips  and  scorns 
of  time ;  the  oppressor's  wrong  ;  the  proud  man's  contumely  ; 
[picture  contempt]  the  pangs  of  despised  love  ;  [picture  jealousy] 
the  law's  delay  ;  [business  of  Jianclcuffs]  the  insolence  of  office, 
and  the  spurns  that  patient  merit  of  the  unworthy  takes,  [business 
of  kicking]  when  he  himself  might  his  quietus  make  with  a  bare 
bodkin?  [Stabbing.]  But  that  the  dread  of  something  after  death, 
that  undiscovered  country  from  whose  bourne  (burns)  [express  pitch- 
forking, horns,  and  jumping  about]  no  traveller  returns,  puzzles  the 
will,  and  makes  us  rather  bear  those  ills  we  have,  than  fly  [business 
of  flying]  to  others  that  we  know  not  of. 

Thus  conscience  does  make  cowards  of  us  all.  [Picture  fear.] 
And  thus  the  native  hue  of  resolution  is  sicklied  o'er  with  the  pale 
cast  of  thought ;  [picture  meditation]  and  enterprises  of  great  pith 
and  moment,  with  this  regard,  their  currents  turn  awry,  and  lose 
the  name  of  action. 

Soft  you  now  !  the  fair  Ophelia.  [Picture  love.]  Nymph,  in 
thine  orisons  be  all  my  sins  remembered.  [Picture  resignation.] 
[Exit.] 


THE  GOOD  LITTLE  BOY  AND  THE 
BAD  LITTLE  BOY. 

T  PEESUME  you  have  all  occasionally  dipped  into  the  sort  of 
literature  that  is  provided  for  the  young  by  the  various  Tract 
Societies  and  Book  Concerns, — the  sort  of  book  in  which  the  virtu- 
ous lad,  by  strict  attention  to  the  rules  and  precepts  of  his  worthy 
parents  and  Sabbath-school  teachers,  rises  to  high  distinction  in 
the  world,  and  in  which  the  naughty  boy,  by  his  disobedience,  falls 
into  grievous  trouble,  sometimes  even  into  the  mill-pond  when  his 
depravity  leads  him  to  the  purloining  of  birds'  nests  upon  Sunday. 
I  say  I  suppose  you  have  read  these  books,  but  I  doubt  if  any  of 
you  have  ever  seen  the  little  boy  intended  to  be  produced  by  these 
means. 


12 


WERNER'S  READINGS 


I  will  try  to  put  before  you  the  natural  product  of  this  class  of 
literature  in  the  character  of  "  The  Good  Little  Boy." 

"  I  am  a  very  good  little  boy.    I  never  tell  stories,  I  never  play 
truant,  I  never  make  loud,  rude  noises. 

"Ah  !  there  is  the  school-bell,  but  there  is  another  bell  before 
school  begins,  so  I  shall  have  a  chance  to  reflect.  Let  me  see,  do  I 
know  all  my  lessons  ?  Ah,  yes,  I  do  not  think  I  can  fail  in  any  of 
them,  and  that  rejoices  me  with  a  great  gladness.  I  never  would 
miss  a  lesson  if  I  could  avoid  it,  for  it  grieves  my  teacher  and 
makes  my  parents'  hearts  sad  if  I  do  not  attend  diligently  to  my 
studies.  Besides,  knowledge  is  power;  and  power  is  a  good  thing  if 
we  make  good  use  of  it,  which  I  shall  always  do. 

"  Ah!  who  would  neglect  their  studies  for  the  sake  of  idle  play  ? 
who  would  not  rather  acquire  information  than  marbles?  For 
after  all,  playing  at  marbles  is  a  sinful  game,  somewhat  resembling 
gambling,  and  arousing  evil  passions  in  a  boy's  breast.  I  have  seen 
one  little  boy  strike  another  little  boy  upon  the  nose  when  disput- 
ing over  the  game  of  marbles. 

"  Ah!  how  I  wish  that  other  little  boys  could  be  as  I  am;  and 
when  I  see  them  doing  wrong  I  try  to  correct  them  and  make  them 
better,  and  sometimes  it  gets  me  into  trouble,  as  upon  one  occasion 
when  I  saw  some  naughty  boys  playing  a  wicked  game  of  base-ball 
upon  the"  Sabbath.  And  when  I  went  up  to  them  and  plead  with 
them  and  strove  with  them,  and  told  them  that  they  would  never  go  to 
heaven,  they  called  me  rude  names  and  cast  rocks  at  me,  and  put  me ' 
under  the  pump  and  pumped  on  me;  so  when  I  went  home,  my  papa, 
who  discredited  my  story,  whipped  me  for  getting  my  clothing  wet. 

"  What  shall  I  be  when  I  have  grown  to  be  a  man  ?  Let  me  re- 
flect. I  will  be  a  wealthy  and  benevolent  merchant  and  found  a 
woman's  hotel.  No,  I  will  be  a  missionary  and  go  to  Africa's 
sunny  strand  and  make  the  poor,  little,  black  heathen  children 
wear  nice  warm  ulsters  and  read  tracts  instead  of  going  about  with 
nothing  on  [looks  modest]  and  eating  each  other. 

"No,  now  I  have  it:  I  will  be  postmaster  of  the  United  States 
on  week-days,  and  on  Sunday  I  will  be  superintendent  of  a  Sabbath- 
school. 


AND  RECITATIONS. 


13 


"Ah!  [listening]  there  is  the  second  bell,  and  I  must  hurry  on  or 
I  shall  be  late  for  school,  which  would  grieve  my  parents  and  make 
my  teacher's  heart  sick."    [Exit  singing."] 

"  Oh,  come,  come  away,  the  school-bell  now  is  ringing: 
With  merry  hearts  from  friends  depart,  oh,  come,  come  away." 

[Re-enter  quickly  with  tough  gestures,  smoking  a  stump  of  cigar, 
if  permissible.  ] 

"  I'm  tough,  I  am,  and  fly  too.  You  can  just  bet  your  sweet  life 
that  feller  that  just  went  away  is  a  chump.  I  smashed  him  in  his 
kisser  and  pushed  his  face  in.  He  told  me  ef  I  didn't  go  to  school 
to-day  and  learn  me  lessins  I  would  grow  up  igerrent,  so  I  just 
showed  him.    Oh,  look  at  that  [showing  muscle]. 

"  Oh,  I  am  sorry  for  him.  He  thinks  ef  he  minds  hees  teachers 
and  learns  hees  lessons  and  all  dem  tings,  he'el  get  'lected  presi- 
dent of  the  U-nited  States.  Oh,  rats  !  Won't  he  get  left,  dough  ! 
When  I  grown  up  and  get  a  big  man  I'll  run  a  gin-mill  and  get  to  be 
boss  of  a  gang,  and  den  I'll  get  'lected  alderman  and  grab  de  boodle. 

"  I  got  a  gang  now.  You'd  oughter  see  'em.  We  call  ourselves 
'  De  Curbstone  Cotiree.'  Dere's  Scotty  and  Dirty  Mike,  and  Patsy 
G-illigan,  and  Swilltub  Fritz,  and  Crummey  de  Dog-s wiper.  We 
used  to  meet  on  de  Dutchman's  coal-box,  but  he  got  fresh  wid  us 
fellers  and  setwed  a  writ  of  interjection  onto  us. 

"  Maybe  we  didn't  have  a  dandy  fire  last  'lection  night.  Dere 
wasn't  a  ash-barrel  or  a  fence  left  in  de  district;  and  say,  you'd 
oughter  seen  how  de  Dutchman's  coal-box  blazed,  it  was  as  good  as 
fire-works. 

"  I  wish  I  was  out  on  de  plains  fightin'  injins  like  they  doos  in 
<De  Boys'  Own  Blood-tub:' 

"  e  I  say,  Scalp-knife  Bill,  do  you  see  de  red-skins  yonder,  behind 
de  cottonwood  in  de  chapparell  f 

" J  Yes,  I  seez  em,  and  as  sure's  your  name's  Bloody-handed  Dick, 
de  eagle-eyed  trapper  detective  of  de  far  Sierras,  I'll  have  dere 
heart's  blood  ere  yander  sun  sinks  beneath  de  eastern  horizon. 
Come  on  den,  let's  slay  'em  without  a  quarter.' 

[Starting  and  looking  frightened.]  "  Cheese  it,  a  cop  P  [Exit 
hastily.] 


14 


WERNER'S  READINGS 


BILLY'S  PETS. 

T  AM  very  fond  of  pets.  I  just  love  all  kinder  animiles,  and  I've 
had,  oli,  lots  of  pets  ;  but  somewayernother  they  all  seem  to 
turn  out  bad  kinder. 

The  first  pet  what  ever  I  had  was  a  sweet  little  kid.  Well,  he 
was  a  sweet  little  kid  when  I  fust  got  him  ;  but  byumby  he  growed 
up  into  a  grate  big  billy-goat  with  long  horns  and  a  bad  disposition. 
When  he  was  a  little  kid  I  used  to  take  him  to  bed  with  me  nights; 
but  when  he  growed  up  to  goat's  estate  he  used  to  stand  on  the  bed 
and  buck,  and  I'd  have  to  sit  up  all  night  in  a  chair. 

Then  by  and  by  he  began  eat  in'  things.  He  ate  all  the  table- 
cloths, and  the  paper  off  the  wall,  and  all  my  school-books — golly! 
I  didn't  mind  that  much.  But  one  day  he  got  ahold  of  the 
"  Krutzer  Sonater"  and  ate  that,  and  it  made  him  awful  sick,  and 
then  he  ate  a  copy  of  the  "  Weekly  Anua-kist  "*  and  that  killed  him. 
Uncle  Henry  said  it  was  the  eddytorials  kinder  roasted  him  up 
inside  like. 

Well,  the  next  pet  I  had  was  a  dawg — um,  such  a  nice  dawg.  I 
think  he  was  a  water-spaniel.  What  makes  me  think  he  was  a 
water-spaniel  is  'cause  I  found  him  in  the  water  with  a  brick  tied 
to  his  tail.    Some  boys  was  goin'  to  drownd  him. 

"  Gimme  that  dawg  for  this  jack-knife?"  I  says,  untheboys  says, 

"Yes!" 

i(  Whatel  you  give  me  to  boot  ?"  I  says. 

"  You  kin  boot  the  dawg,  if  yer  wanter,"  they  says. 

Oh,  he  was  a  nice  dawg!  not  putty,  but  so  'fectionate  and  so  musi- 
cal ;  used  to  sing  all  nite.  You  see  he  used  to  bay  the  moon,  and 
when  they  wasn't  no  moon  he'd  bay  gas-lamps  and  'lectric  lights. 
But  one  day  he  got  the  horidforbier  and  bit  some  little  boys  in  our 
street.  They  must  a  been  bad  boys,  else  it  wouldn't  a  happined  to 
them.  Nothin'  bad  ever  happins  to  good  boys.  Well,  anny  way, 
some  folks  what  he  didn't  kill  come  around  and  killed  him.  That 
was  wrong,  don't  you  see.    We  should  never  injure  those  who  do 


*  Introduce  some  book  or  paper  to  suit  time  and  place. 


AND  RECITATIONS. 


15 


not  injure  us.  They'd  ought  to  taken  him  to  Doctor  Paster  and 
got  some  mutton  soup  squirted  into  him.  But  anyway  when  they 
killed  him  he  died  of  it  and  never  got  alive  any  more,  and  I  felt  real 
sad. 

Once  my  uncle  gimme  a  pony.  Oh,  such  a  summtiloocious  pony! 
one  of  them  kind  that  wears  their  ears  long  and  their  tale  short, 
and  kinder  sing  like  a  rusty  hinge  when  they're  feelin'  happy. 

Such  a  playful  pony  he  was.  He  used  to  play  foot-ball  with  me. 
I  use  ter  be  the  foot-ball  and  leap-frog!  un!  why,  he'd  let  me  leap 
over  his  head  as  many  times  as  I  wanted — manyer.  He  could  buck, 
too.  But  not  like  a  goat  bucks.  Goats  bucks  with  their  horns, 
but  he  bucked  with  his  hole  form  like.  Just  hump  up  his  back 
and  bounce  like  a  rubber  ball,  only  harder. 

But  one  day  when  he  was  hungry  he  chewed  off  my  uncle's  left 
ear.  Uncle  didn't  get  mad,  oh,  no;  uncle  belongs  to  the  Society  for 
the  Prevention  of  Cruelty  to  Animiles,  but  he  said  there  must  be 
sumthin'  a  matter  with  the  inside  works  of  the  pony,  cause  pony's 
mostly  wasn't  carneriverous  and  don't  natrely  feed  off  ears.  So  he 
just  cut  him  open  to  find  out  what  the  trouble  was,  and  what  do 
you  think  ?  if  that  pony  wasn't  full  up  to  there — of  people's  ears 
what  he'd  chewed  off  !    Uncle  said  he  died  of  eary-sypilus. 

I  once  had  a  pole-cat,  but  that  ain't  a  fare  cat,  and  it  don't  go  up 
a  pole  neither.  Some  folks  calls  urn  skunks.  They  say  that  men 
makes  the  finest  perfumerys  out  of  things  that  smells  the  orfullest: 
if  that's  the  fare  truth,  my  pole-cat  would  a  made  about  ten  million 
barrels  of  the  nicest,  sweetest  kind  of  col ogny- water.  Say,  I 
couldn't  bare  to  sleep  with  myself  for  over  a  month  after  I  had  that 
pole-cat,  and  uncle  got  a  hundred  pounds  of  limburger  cheese  and 
rubbed  it  into  the  parlor  carpet  and  sprinkled  sassyfigety  and  kero- 
sene all  over  the  house,  and  made  me  bathe  myself  in  carboilic  acid 
for  a  week  to  sorter  take  out  the  perfumery. 

But  that  wasn't  a  pet,  you  know.  A  pet  is  a  animile  what  you 
love,  and  nobody  don't  love  pole-cats,  'cept  maby  Mr.  Lubin,  what 
makes  J ockey  Club,  and  white  Violet,  and  Muss  Rose  cologny-water. 

The  next  pet  I  got  was  a  pussy  cat.  Oh,  such  a  sweet  pussy  cat! 
all  black  with  one  green  eye.    The  only  one  fault  she  had  was  she 


16 


WERNER'S  READINGS 


was  so  fond  er  kittens.  She  used  to  go  out  and  adopt  a  half  a 
dozen  every  few  weeks,  and  come  bringin'  them  in  by  the  scruff  of 
their  necks.  Then  byumby  them  kittens  begun  to  grow  up  inter 
big  cats,  so  at  last  the  house  got  just  full  of  cats,  all  kinder  cats: 
Lazy  fat  cats,  and  thin  scratch  cats,  and  ash-barrel  cats  and  albino 
cats;  cats  what  had  fits  and  cats  what  didn't  have  fits.  Byumby 
it  got  so  you  couldn't  step  no  where  in  that  house  'thout  steppin' 
onto  a  cat's  tale. 

Well,  uncle  he  knows  all  about  perlitercal  'conomy  and  all  such 
things,  and  he  says  the  mejeroity  should  rule,  and  what's  good  for 
the  greatest  number  should  allers  be  done,  and  he  says  that  for  the 
greatest  good  of  the  greatest  number  we'd  oughter  move.  So  we 
moved.  The  man  that  lived  in  that  house  after  we  moved  away, 
usedter  sell  boned  turkey  and  chicken  salad  in  pretty  tin  boxes. 

The  last  pet  ever  I  had  was  a  lovely  green  snake  ;  as  graceful  a 
little  creetur  as  ever  you  see.  He  was  twinin'  hisself  around  a 
'lanthus  tree  in  our  back  yard  when  I  coched  him,  and  he  learned 
to  love  me  dearly,  I  think,  'cause  he  always  used  to  wag  his  tale 
when  I  come  near  him. 

I  didn't  tell  uncle  'bout  havin'  the  snake,  cause  I  wanted  to  give 
him  a  pleasant  surprise,  he  was  so  fond  of  animiles,  you  know.  Well, 
one  day  I  was  playin'  with  him  on  the  floor  and  uncle  come  in  and 
see  me.  Uncle  jumped  about  a  feet  and  says,  "Holy  smoke!  I've 
got  'em  again!  Say,  Billy  dear,  do  you  see  anything  there  ?  No,  of 
course  you  don't  ;  neither  do  I,  only  I  just  thought  I'd  ask." 

"Oh,  yes,"  I  says,  "dear  uncle,  that's  my  new  snake,  McKinley. 
I  got  him  for  to  surprise  yer  with." 

Then  uncle  sighed  like,  and  says  :  "  Ah,  Billy,  you'd  better  give 
him  up  now  before  he  becomes  indispenserble  to  yer  happiness  and 
learns  to  look  up  inter  your  eyes  with  pleading  'fection  and  twine 
hisself  about  your  heart." 

Then  he  took  him  away  with  the  tongs.  Uncle  told  me  after- 
ward he'd  put  him  out  of  his  misery  with  chloryform  and  'lectricity. 
"  Better  so,"  says  uncle,  "than  to  send  him  out  inter  the  cold  world 
among  strangers."    Uncle  was  always  so  kind  to  animilea. 


AND  RECITATIONS. 


1? 


PROFESSOR  GUNTER  ON  MARRIAGE. 


[Sharp  snappy  voice  and  stiff  jerky  movements.] 
jWI  EN  AND  WOMEN  :— You  must  not  expect  me  to  preface  the 
few  remarks  I  have  to  make  with  a  bow.    I  never  saluted 
any  one,  man  or  woman,  in  any  manner  whatever.    Absurd  cere- 
mony, waste  of  muscular  effort. 

In  my  studies  of  nocturnal  insect  life  it  has  been  my  custom  on 
summer  evenings  to  walk  in  the  Central  Park,  and  on  sucli  occa- 
sions I  have  been  shocked,  surprised,  not  to  say  disgusted,  by  ob- 
serving every  seat  or  bench  occupied  by  couples  composed  of  one 
male  and  one  female  person,  young  and  otherwise,  seated  in  inti- 
mate contiguity  or  juxtaposition,  the  arm  of  the  male  about  the 
waist  of  the  female  and  the  head  of  the  female  upon  the  shoulder 
of  the  male  ;  [in  a  disgusted  tone]  the  male  at  frequent  intervals 
kissing  the  female  ;  and  the  female  at  somewhat  longer  intervals 
kissing  the  male,  or  vice  versa  ;  ridiculous  custom,  great  waste  of 
muscular  effort. 

Upon  inquiry,  I  was  informed  that  this  was  a  ceremony  known 
under  various  titles,  such  as  " courting,"  "sparking,''  "keeping 
company,"  and  was  regarded  as  a  necessary  preliminary  to  the  union 
of  persons  by  the  marriage  contract.  And  this  brings  me  to  the 
subject  of  my  remarks. 

Why,  in  the  name  of  reason,  should  two  persons  who  have  re- 
solved to  take  upon  themselves  the  cares  and  responsibilities  of 
married  life,  devote  an  indefinite  number  of  weeks,  months,  or  years 
to  the  performance  of  such  a  preposterous  and  unnecessary  cere- 
monial ?  In  my  opinion,  this  most  regrettable  ccndition  of  things 
arises  from  the  absurd  practice  of  allowing  young  and  inexperienced 
persons  to  choose  their  own  life-partners.  Why,  my  more  or  less 
intelligent  audience,  who  could  be  less  fitted  for  the  grave  task  of 
such  a  selection  than  persons  of  unripe  years  and  no  discretion 
whatever  ? 

I  am  sure  you  must  all  agree  with  me  upon  the  folly  of  the  pres- 


18 


WERNER'S  READINGS 


ent  arrangement.  But  you  may  ask,  "  Where  is  the  remedy  ?"  I 
answer.  It  is  here  [producing  a  document].  I  have  matured  a  plan 
for  an  intelligent  and  judicious  settlement  of  the  question  of  mar- 
riages, which  I  will  now  briefly  sketch  for  your  enlightenment,  leav- 
ing the  elaboration  of  details  for  some  future  day  [reads  from  paper]. 

A  board  should  be  appointed  by  the  mayor  of  each  city,  or  select- 
men of  every  town  or  village,  composed  of  men  and  women  of  ad- 
vanced years,  whose  duty  it  should  be  to  select  suitable  persons  as 
life-partners.  And  the  decisions  of  this  board  should  be  final,  any 
disobedience  to  its  mandates  being  punished  by  imprisonment  for 
life  or  for  a  longer  period.  Couples  should  be  of  a  suitable  age,  say 
thirty  on  the  part  of  the  female  and  forty-five  on  the  part  of  the 
male,  for  early  marriages  are  most  injudicious. 

Contrasts  should  also  be  observed  in  the  selection.  Thus,  for  a 
very  large  and  stout  woman  a  small,  attenuated  husband  should  be 
found  ;  and  for  an  obese  and  plethoric  man  a  pale  and  fragile 
female.  The  dark  should  be  mated  with  the  fair,  gray  eyes  with 
black,  and  for  a  person  whose  lower  limbs  present  this  figure 
[knuckles  together]  should  be  found  a  mate  whose  nether  extremities 
describe  this  form  [thumbs  touching  and  forefingers  pointing 
toward  each  other]. 

For  a  vixenish  and  sharp-tongued  female  should  be  found  a  hus- 
band of  lamb-like  docility,  and  for  a  peevish  and  violent  man  a 
wife  with  a  spirit  of  angelic  patience.  No  two  pair  of  cross-eyes 
should  be  permitted  in  any  one  couple,  but  for  a  person  so  afflicted 
should  be  found  a  wall-eyed  mate.  For  a  man  with  the  right  limb 
shorter  than  the  left  should  be  found  a  woman  with  the  right  limb 
the  longer.  For  one  with  the  nose  twisted  to  the  left  hand,  some 
person  whose  nasal  organ  is  turned  toward  the  right.  In  all  such 
cases  we  may  hope  that  the  progeny  will  strike  a  sort  of  average,  and 
present  neither  irregularity. 

This  board  should  also  have  charge  of  the  question  of  divorce, 
and  when  any  couple  are  reported  by  their  neighbors  as  quarrelling 
or  disagreeing  more  than  once  a  month,  such  couple  should  be 
separated  with  or  without  their  consent,  and  some  more  suitable 
mate  found  for  each  at  the  discretion  of  the  board. 


AND  RECITATIONS. 


19 


All  persons  making  use  of  any  such  expressions  as  "  lovey-dovey/' 
or  "does  papa  love  mama/'  or  "tootsy-wootsy/'  or  "whose  baby  is 
oo/'  or  any  similar  phrase,  should  be  put  under  heavy  bonds  to  keep 
the  peace,  and  on  a  second  offence  be  put  under  restraint  in  some 
public  lunatic  asylum  or  idiot  home. 

There  should  be  a  regular,  graduated  list  of  fines  for  other 
offences.  Say  $50  for  squeezing  hands,  and  $100  for  pressing  toes 
under  table ;  $150  for  sitting  in  front  parlor  with  light,  and  $200 
with  the  light  out ;  $250  for  putting  arm  around  waist,  $300  fine 
and  six  months'  imprisonment  for  kissing,  and  electrocution  for  sit- 
ting upon  knee  of  opposite  sex. 

My  scheme  may  seem  Utopian  or  even  impracticable,  but  such  is 
the  case  with  all  great  reforms,  and  like  such  reforms  it  will,  of 
course,  meet  with  opposition  from  the  young  and  foolish.  But  if 
my  plan  of  furnishing  all  heads  of  families  with  fierce  bull-dogs  and 
stout  boots  at  the  public  expense  were  put  in  practice,  such  opposi- 
tion might  be  reduced  to  a  minimum. 

Oh,  my  more  or  less  intelligent  hearers,  it  may  be  a  hard  battle, 
but  is  not  such  a  reform  worth  any  amount  of  effort  ?  For  my  own 
part,  I  am  willing  to  sacrifice  myself  upon  the  altar  of  common- 
sense. 

And  if  the  board  I  plead  for  is  ever  established,  I  will  most 
cheerfully  submit  to  its  mandate,  although,  of  course,  in  my  case  if 
the  law  of  contrast  were  duly  adhered  to,  my  life-partner  would 
naturally  be  a  person  of  inferior  mental  attainments,  plain  personal 
appearance,  and — er — hem — a  large  fortune.  Still,  as  I  have  said, 
in  the  interest  of  the  public  good,  and  as  an  example  of  intelligent 
connubial  arrangements,  I  would  at  any  cost  or  pain  accept  the 
female  selected  for  me  by  the  board.  And  if  any  here  present  feel 
inclined  to  subscribe  a  few  hundreds  or  thousands  of  dollars  for  the 
formation  of  a  society  for  the  suppression  of  love-making  nonsense, 
and  placing  matrimony  upon  an  intelligent  and  reasonable  basis,  I 
stand  not  only  ready  but  anxious  to  become  its  treasurer. 


20 


WERNER'S  READINGS 


HIGH  ART  AND  ECONOMY. 

T  HAVE  read  of  late  a  great  many  articles  in  the  artistic  maga- 
zines  describing  the  achievements  of  sundry  decorative  econo- 
mists who  created  ingenious  abodes  of  beauty  and  taste  in  the  most 
inexpensive  manner;  and  believing  such  articles  to  be  in  demand, 
I  hastened  to  jot  down  my  own  experiences  in  the  cheap  furnish- 
ing line,  and  offered  the  same  for  publication  to  Scribner's,  Harp- 
er's, and  the  Atlantic  Monthly,  but  failed  to  dispose  of  it  at  either. 
I  cannot  imagine  why  it  was  refused,  as  it  seems  to  me  to  be 
exactly  in  the  proper  style.    The  following  is  the  article: 

Only  three  dollars  and  a  half!  And  I  must  construct  for  myself  a 
borne  which  would  not  offend  my  refined  tastes,  and  which  should 
in  some  measure  symbolize  the  mingled  strength  and  poetry  of  my 
inner  nature.  Well,  as  I  recline  in  dreamy  reverie  upon  the  Span- 
ish laundry-soap-box,  which  I  have  converted  into  an  elegant 
lounge,  and  look  about  me,  a  sigh  of  satisfaction  escapes  my  lips  ; 
and  as  I  straighten  the  last  leg  of  my  ebony  escritoire  I  proudly 
pronounce  the  words,  "By  hokey  !  I've  done  it."  I  will  tell  you 
now. 

My  uncle,  with  whom  I  lived,  allowed  me  to  make  my  home  in 
a  disused  cow-shed,  for  I  could  not  endure  the  kalsomined  walls  of 
his  house,  and  the  floors,  covered  as  they  were  with  carpet,  lacer- 
ated my  very  soul  and  brought  on  a  state  of  melancholy  which  even 
Howells's  Thrilling  Tales  of  Adventure  or  Eichard  Grant  White's 
Poetical  Flights  of  Fancy  could  not  dissipate,  so  I  removed  to 
the  cow-shed  and  prepared  to  make  it  a  home  of  beauty. 

First,  I  gave  the  walls  a  coat  of  Busby's  Liquid  Blacking,  leav- 
ing a  space  at  top  and  bottom  for  frieze  and  dado.  The  spaces  I 
covered  with  sheets  of  wrapping-paper.  On  the  frieze  I  painted  2 
representation  of  a  political  torchlight  procession  and  chowder- 
party  in  ancient  Egypt  in  Indian  red,  which  I  produced,  inexpen- 
sively but  somewhat  laboriously,  by  rubbing  broken  bricks  upon  a 
flag-stone;  a  mucilage-brush  furnishing  a  good  implement  with 
which  to  apply  it.    On  the  dado  I,  with  the  same  materials,  de- 


AND  RECITATIONS. 


21 


lineated  a  walking-match  of  storks  among  the  bulrushes  on  the 
banks  of  the  Nile. 

Now  for  the  floor.  A  carpet  was  not  only  repugnant  to  my 
feelings,  but  expensive  also.  I  concluded  to  stain  the  floor;  but 
how  ?  Chance  favored  me.  Some  painters  were  at  worK  on  the 
roof  of  my  uncle's  house,  and  while  they  were  absent  at  the  noon- 
tide hour  seeking  nourishment,  I  borrowed  their  paint  and  conse- 
crated it  to  the  sacred  cause  of  art. 

The  floor  had  now  a  beautiful  brown  surface,  and  possessed  an 
adhesive  quality  which  I  utilized  in  fastening  down  my  rug,  which 
I  constructed  of  an  apron  of  my  aunt's,  squared  up  and  appliqued 
with  the  feet  of  old  woollen  stockings  cut  into  artistic  shapes. 

Acting  on  the  happy  suggestions  given  me  by  the  roof-painters, 
and  with  the  same  high  motive,  I  then  procured  some  planks  from 
a  neighboring  lumber-yard,  and  constructed  a  big  wooden  mantel- 
piece, consisting  of  shelves  placed  one  above  the  other.  These  I 
painted  with  the  roof-paint,  of  which  some  still  remained,  and 
further  decorated  with  bro^\l  bands  of  black;  and  when  I  had 
tacked  upon  the  edge  a  fringe  made  of  strips  cut  from  a  red-flannel 
garment  of  my  aunt's  which  h  been  left  out  one  night  upon  the 
clothes-line,  the  effect  was  one  c  subdued  grandeur.  I  then  filled 
the  shelves  with  a  collection  of  *  vic-a-brac,  old  ink-bottles,  flower- 
pots, pieces  of  kindling-wood,  tomato-cans,  and  decorated  bricks. 

Upon  the  walls  I  hung  Herald  war-maps  and  allegorical  designs 
by  Thomas  Nast,  in  lath-frames.  These  suggested  a  love  of  the 
ideal  in  art,  which  is  one  of  my  more  prominent  characteristics. 
In  addition  to  the  Spanish  laundry-soap-box  lounge  and  the  ebony 
escritoire  made  of  laths  which  I  have  already -mentioned,  I  made  a 
beautiful  arm-chair  of  Eastlake  design  out  of  an  old  hen-coop,  cov- 
ered with  red  flannel  derived  from  the  same  source  as  the  fringe 
on  the  mantelpiece. 

A  drain-pipe  standing  on  end  and  surmounted  by  a  washboard 
formed  a  tasteful  and  appropriate  pedestal  for  my  great  work  in 
clay,  representing  Peter  Cooper  receiving  the  congratulations  of 
Apollo  and  the  nine  muses. 

A  scrap-book  containing  mortuary  notices  from  London  Punch, 


22 


WERNER'S  READINGS 


humorous  verses  by  G.  W.  Childs,  etc.,  and  some  copies  of  the 

Atlantic  Monthly  completed  the  contents  of  my  bower  of  beauty 
and  culture.  Why  should  any  man  of  taste  and  refinement  live 
surrounded  by  the  products  of  commonplace  barbarism,  when,  by 
ingenuity,  industry,  and  a  proper  attention  to  the  advertising 
columns  of  the  magazines,  he  can  make  for  himself  a  congenial 
home  for  the  small  sum  of  three  dollars  and  a  half  ? 


MRS.  BRITZENHOEFFER'S  TROUBLES. 

[Should  be  done  in  costume.  Brown-spotted  calico  dress,  checked 
apron,  yellow  handkerchief  on  neck,  looollen  hood,  carpet-slippers,  blue 
woollen  stockings,  and  a  cheap  market-basket  ivith  a  property  bologna 
sausage  in  it.  Face,  dark  t  int  flesh,  pink  tint  on  eyelids  and  broivn 
rims  to  upper  and  lower  lids,  brown  wrinkles  at  corners  of  eyes  and 
on  forehead,  nose  faintly  reddened  at  tip.  Draw  mouth  up  at  cor- 
ners as  far  as  possible  and  protrude  under  lip.  Line  the  ivrinkles 
thus  produced  with  broivn  painty 

[Enter,  wiping  eyes  and  nose  on  apron.] 
/^\H,  I  got  me  so  much  droubles,  I  can't  toled  you  how  moch 
^->^  droubles  I  have  got.  Key  Yorrick  vos  de  vorst  city  fon  de 
whole  vorlt,  mit  de  vorst  mans,  unt  de  vorst  vomans,  unt  de  vorsi 
poys  unt  gels,  unt  de  vorst  dogs.  But  by  dose  shamrock  flats  vere  I 
life  me,  v^s  de  vorst  men  unt  de  vorst  voman,  unt  the  vorst  poys 
unt  gels,  unt  de  vorst  dog  in  de  whole  city  fon  Ney  Yorrick. 
Dere  names  vos  Mulligan. 

Gooka  mol  [setting  down  basket].  I  keep  me  dose  bretty  shura- 
nium  flowers,  de  roses  shuraniums,  unt  de  Lady  Voshingtons  shura- 
niums,  unt  de  lemons  sheraniums,  unt  de  fishes  shuraniums.  I  keep 
me  dose  shuraniums  on  de  vinder  shelluf  unt  dey  grows  fine  unt 
beautiful,  unt  got  soch  a  bretty  flowers  on  dem.  Veil,  comes  dose 
raskell  Mulligans  poys  unt  break  fon  de  fishes  shuraniums  de  heads 
off. 

Dot  make  me  so  vild  I  look  me  out  de  vinder  unt  I  say  to  dose 
Mulligans  poys:  "For  vot  you  drow  dose  sthones  unt  break  m^ 


AND  RECITATIONS. 


23 


bretty  flowers  ?  Sthop  dot  right  avay. "  Den  comes  more  sthones 
unt  knocks  fon  my  roses  shuraniums  de  heads  off  it.  Den  I  get 
me  vild  unt  I  holler  out:  "You  little  raskells,  I  call  mine  hosband 
unt  he  keel  you,  you  little  loafers!  Hons!  Hons!  Kumma  mol, 
keel  for  me  dose  raskell  Mulligans  poys."  Unt  Hons  he  come  very 
grafe  unt  quiet,  unt  he  say : 

".  Lena,  Lena,  dot  vos  not  de  vay  to  speak  by  childrens.  De  vay 
to  speak  by  childrens  vos  quiet  unt  dignyfied  unt  gentle,  not  vild 
unt  oxcited  like  dot." 

Unt  he  goes  by  de  vinder  unt  he  says:  "  Little  poys,  donM  you 
know  dot  vos  ferry  wrong  to  drow  dose  sthones  unt  break  de  bretty 
flowers?  See  dey  vos  all  broke  unt  sphoiled,  unt  dot  makes  mine 
vife  engry.    Now  you  vill  be  goot  little  poys  unt  go  right  avay." 

But  dey  don'd  go  avay.  Comes  more  sthones  unt  breaks  for 
twenty-five  cents  vinder  gless,  unt  a  milluk  pitcher.    Unt  Hons  say : 

"I  vos  surprised  for  you.  You  are  more  bed  dan  I  could  belief. 
Go  right  avay  or  I  sholl  be  vexed  mit  you." 

But  dey  don'd  go  avay  some  more,  but  comes  anoder  beg  sthone 
unt  hits  my  Hons  on  de  nose.    Unt  he  say, 

"Donner  unt  blixen,  you  nesty,  dirty  raskells!  I  sthrangleese 
de  life  fon  out  you!  I  blow  your  heads  off  mit  such  a  Getting  guns, 
you  nesty,  dirty,  freckley,  vorty,  red-head,  schnub-nosed  raskells! 
Bolice!    Bolice!  Bolice!" 

Yah  [crying\  Unt  de  bolice  come  unt  take  mine  Hons  by  de 
station-house,  unt  dot  cost  me  den  dollars  of  I  can  get  him  oud 
some  more  in  de  morning. 

I  keep  me  some  schickens,  de  hens  unt  de  roosters,  unt  dey  lay 
me  sometimes  eggs, — de  hens.  Unt  last  veek  I  come  down  de 
sthares  mit  a  besket  fon  dose  eggs  on  my  arm.  Unt  dere  on  de 
lending  sthands  dose  Mulligans  gel,  Mary  Ann,  mit  dose  Mulli- 
gans dog,  Dowser.  Unt  dot  Dowser  he  got  a  mout  like  a  railroat 
tunnel,  unt  he  growls  fon  me  unt  looks  cross-vays,  unt  I  say,  "  Get 
oud,  you  bed  Mulligans  dog;  I  vont  to  go  de  sthares  down  \"  unt 
dot  dog  he  growls  mit  me.  Unt  I  say,  "Get  out!"  unt  I  make  for 
heem  a  kick  so  ;  unt  dot  Mulligans  Mary  Ann,  she  say,  "Sick  her, 
Dowser,"  unt  I  make  for  heem  anoder  kick,  unt  he  youmps  for  me 


24 


WERNERS  READINGS 


unt  bites  fon  my  new  knit  stockings  soch  a  pieces  es  two  skeins  of 
yarn  knits  not  in  some  more,  unt  some  of  me  too;  unt  I  fall  me 
ofer  dot  Mary  Ann  unt  dot  Dowser,  unt  down  sthares  I  go,  humpty 
pump,  ofer  and  ofer,  unt  smash  on  de  bottom  goes  for  a  dollar  eggs 
unt  fifty  cents  profit. 

Veil,  nefer  mind,  nefer  mind;  de  little  old  Dutch  vomans  can  do 
something. 

By  Jersey  lifes  mine  brooder.  Yah  [meaningly].  Vot  vos  his 
occupations,  eh?    He  vos  a  sausage-maker,  ain't  it?  Yah. 

Last  veek  Dowser  bighted  fon  me  big  pieces  out.  Dis  veek — 
[taking  property  sausage  from  basket  with  a  laugh  of  fiendish 
triumph.    Biting  sausage  savagely] — I  know  vot  I  know.  [Exit.] 


DUNDERBURG  JENKINS'S  "FORTY- 
GRAF"  ALBUM. 

A.  STUDY  IN  FACIAL  EXPRESSION  AND  POSING. 


T  ONCE  spent  a  few  weeks  at  the  house  of  Mr.  Dunderburg  Jen- 
kins,  in  the  northern  part  of  this  State.  Mr.  Jenkins  was  a 
good,  worthy  man.  He  meant  well,  I  am  sure,  but  he  had  a  col- 
lection of  photographs^n  an  album  upon  his  parlor-table  which  he 
insisted  upon  showing  to  every  one  who  stopped  at  his  house. 

"  Don't  you  want  ter  see  the  fortygrafs  ?  Most  remarkable  col- 
lection."   And  so  indeed  it  was. 

I  will  try  to  imitate  in  my  own  person  as  nearly  as  possible  the 
pictures  in  that  remarkable  collection,  together  with  the  running 
comment  upon  the  originals  of  the  same  with  which  Mr.  Jenkins 
always  favored  his  pictures. 

"  That  there  is  the  fust  Miss  Jenkins.    She  enjoyed  powerful 
bad  health  while  she  was  among  us.    She's  now  in  glory." 
[Hands  folded  and  mouth  draivn  down  on  one  side.    Melancholy  ex- 
pression.] 


AND  RECITATIONS. 


25 


*  That  there  is  Thompson's  boy  Jimmy.  Ah,  he's  a  right)  smart 
lad  and  handsome,  too." 

[Feet  ivide  apart,  anus  stiff  a  Utile  way  from  body,  hands  spread 
wide.  Mouth  ivide  open  and  a  dead  stare  in  the  eyes.  Expres- 
sionless face. .] 

"That  there  is  young  Si.  Hawkins.  Oh,  he's  a  regular  highfalu- 
tin  chap — he  is.  Been  tew  town  quite  a  spell.  Got  that  picter  take 
on  Bowery  Street,  which  I  reckon  is  somewhere  near  the  Fifth 
Avenue.  You  see  him  standi nJ  there  in  one  of  hees  most  'poller-like 
ackitudes.  I  call  that  picter  Mie  chafe  duffer  of  the  hull  col- 
lection." 

[Feet  crossed.  Weight  thrown  on  one  hip.  One  elbow  raised  as 
though  upon  a  mantel.  Other  arm  akimbo.  Conceited  expires- 
sion  of  countenance.] 

"  That  there  is  Uncle  Silas  Hogwhistle.    Powerful  fine-lookin' 
man  if  'twarnt  fer  the  least  bit  of  a  cast  inter  one  of  hees  eyes." 
[Arms  folded.    Eyes  crossed.    Upper  lip  inflated.] 
"  That  there  is  Parson  Wheeler.    He  was  a  powerful  exhorter 
and  all  them  things,  but  worldly-minded.    Warn't  satisfied  with 
hees  salry — two  hundred  dollars  a  year — and  only  six  in  family. 
He's  got  another  call  now  up  to  Higgles ville." 
[Hands  clasped.    Mouth  drawn  down  and  eyes  rolled  up.  Sancti- 
monious expression  of  countenance.]  r 
"  That  there  is  old  grandma,  ninety  come  next  January." 
[Corners  of  mouth  drawn  up  as  high  as  possible.  Eyes  nearly  closed. 
One  hand  grasping  chin,  and  elboiv  supported  in  the  other.]  ' 
"  And  that  there's  grandpa.    'Bout  the  same  age." 
[Shoulders  bent.    Under  lip  drawn  way  down,  showing  lower  teeth. 

Eyes  screived  up  and  hand  behind  ear  as  though  deaf] 
[Resuming  your  own  voice.] 

But  I  could  endure  no  more.    I  fled  the  house.  [Exit.] 


26 


WERNER'S  READINGS 


SOME  ENCORE  BITS. 


OTHINGr  secures  the  feeling  of  success  with  your  audience 


better  than  to  follow  any  set  piece  of  recitation  with  one  or 
two  very  brief  bits  of  humorous  pantomime.  A  short  story  with  a 
good  point,  which  enables  you  to  leave  the  stage  gracefully  and 
happily  amid  a  roar  of  laughter  and  applause.  These  little  things, 
while  they  gain  you  the  prestige  of  several  recalls  perhaps,  and 
warm  up  an  audience  wonderfully,  occupy  so  little  time  in  an  en- 
tertainment that  the  feeling  of  wearying  produced  by  prolixity — 
one  of  the  very  worst  possible  impressions  for  a  performer  to  pro- 
duce in  an  audience — is  entirely  avoided. 


My  dear  Friends :  AYhen  the  Emperor  Maximus  Gorillus  en- 
tered Rome  after  his  series  of  brilliant  military  achievements  in 
South  Dakota,  he  was  as  usual  ushered  into  the  Latin  capital  by  a 
grand  triumphal  procession. 

Among  the  many  wonderful  features  of  this  magnificent  spec- 
tacle was  a  musical  instrument  of  peculiar  construction.  Upon 
a  table  were  arranged  a  number  of  stalls  of  various  lengths, 
the  smaller  upon  the  right  and  the  larger  upon  the  left,  in  gradu- 
ated succession.  Each  of  these  stalls  contained  a  cat  or  kitten  of 
corresponding  proportions,  ranging  from  an  ancient  Thomas  cat, 
with  a  deep  bass  voice,  up  to  an  infantile  kitten,  with  a  high 
soprano.  The  tails  of  these  pretty  animals  projected  through 
holes  in  the  backs  of  the  stalls,  and  to  each  tail  was  affixed  a 
handle  working  upon  a  hinge,  so  that  by  pulling  the  handles  each 
cat  or  kitten  was  induced  to  emit  his  or  her  peculiar  note.  There 
were  two  full  octaves  in  the  instrument. 

I  am  not  quite  sure  that  the  Carnival  of  Venice  was  in  vogue 
at  that  time,  but  I  am  sure  if  it  had  been  the  performer  would 
have  selected  it  for  his  grand  piece  de  resistance.    So,  without  fur- 


THE  FELINAPHONE. 


[  Very  gravely  and  earnestly.'] 


AND  RECITATIONS. 


27 


ther  comment,  I  will  endeavor  to  give  you  an  idea  how  the  Car- 
nival of  Venice  sounded  upon  the  Felinaphone. 
[Plat/  or  rather  mew  the  Carnival  with  a  piano  accompaniment, 
pulling  imaginary  handles  with  great  affectatio7i  of  vigor,  once 
over  simply  and  thsn  with  extravagant  variations,  ending  with  a 
loud  caterwaul  and  exit.  Make  the  cat  business  short  and  sharp, 
as  the  effect  is  lost  by  keeping  it  up  too  long.] 

THE  JUGGLER. 

I  attended  a  seance  of  mesmerism  a  few  years  ago,  at  which  the 
patients  or  subjects  were  induced  to  do  many  remarkable  and 
amusing  things.  One  case  that  struck  me  particularly  was  a  youth 
who  was  impressed  by  the  Professor  with  the  idea  that  he  was  a 
juggler  at  a  theatre. 

I  will  endeavor  to  give  you  some  idea  of  the  young  man  as  he 
appeared  under  the  mesmeric  influence. 

[Have  a  lively  galop  played.  Go  through  the  motions  of  a  mes- 
merist making  the  passes  over  a  sealed  patient.  Then  with  a 
sm  ile  to  the  audience  say,  as  though  addressing  a  seated  figure :] 
"  Young  man,  you  are  a  juggler.    Go  on  and  show  us  some  of 

your  skill." 

[Make  a  sweeping  boio  like  that  of  a  circus  performer.  Pick  up  im- 
aginary balls  and  toss  them  under  legs,  over  back,  etc.  Strike 
heroic  attitude.  Pick  up  imaginary  plate,  imitate  spinning  it 
upon  a  stick,  then  balance  upon  nose  with  appearance  of  great 
agility  and  skill.  Add  more  plates.  Attitude  and  sweep  of  arm. 
Then  express  in  pantomime  "Look  at  that  muscle!"  Pickup 
imaginary  heavy  cannon-ball  and  roll  it  across  neck,  toss  it,  etc. 
Tlien  with  straining  muscles  and  forcing  blood  into  the  face, 
raise  two  exceedingly  heavy  balls  straight  above  head  and  sloiuly 
lower  them,  arms  extended,  legs  apart,  and  szoaying  as  tliough 
almost  overcome  by  the  weight.  Drop  as  though  tired.  Siveep- 
ing  gesture  and  glance  around.  TJienpick  up  imaginary  sword. 
Fencing  gestures  and  attitudes.  Bend  sword  and  let  it  spring 
out.    Take  hair  from  head  and  cut  it  in  the  air.    Tlien  fall 


28 


WERNER'S  READINGS 


upon  one  knee  and  slowly  press  the  sword  down  the  throat.  Draw 
it  out  with  flour  ish,  bow  with  conceited,  heroic  air,  and  then  come 
out  of  trance,  looking  scared,  ashamed,  and  sheepish,  and  rush 
off  the  stage  in  a  huddled  up,  shrinking  manner.  The  success 
of  this  bit  depends  almost  entirely  on  a  natural  ability  for  pan- 
tomime. ] 

DENTIST  AND  PATIENT. 

Ladies  and  Gentlemen  :  I  shall  now  endeavor  to  be  two 
people  at  once. 

Scene— Dentist's  office  or  torture  chamber.  Enter  patient. 
[Puff  out  one  cheek  and  express  great  pain.  Point  to  tooth,  shake 
head,  and  raise  hands.  The  dentist  beams  and  rubs  hands  to- 
gether, shrugs  shoulder  with  an  easy  wave  of  hand,  as  though  to 
say,  "  Perfectly  easy.  Have  it  out  in  a  moment."  The  patient 
expresses  fear.  The  dentist  beckons  him  back.  The  patient  looks 
resigned,  heroic.  Then  extract  tooth,  rigid  arm  and  hand  haul- 
ing and  jerking  at  tooth  and  left  hand  grasping  right  as  though 
in  terror.  One  great  pull  and  the  tooth  is  out.  Express  with 
thumb  and  grimace,  "Oh,  ivhat  a  big  hole!  Big  as  that."  Pay 
dentist  and  exit  smiling  upon  imaginary  tooth  of  great  size  which 
you  hold  between  thumb  and  finger. 

ALPHABETICAL  SERMON. 

[Read  text  from  book  very  quietly  and  gravely,  A,  B,  G,  D,  etc.,  to 
Z.  Then  repeal  alphabet  impressively  and  pointedly  as  though 
reading  the  text  a  second  time.  Then  close  book  and  begin  A,  B, 
C,  as  though  saying  firstly,  laying  one  forefinger  on  the  other. 
Again  twice  through  alphabet  argument  at  ively  and  quietly,  then 
warningly ,  finishing  on  Z  in  a  deep,  impressive  tone,  pointing 
dovmivard.  Then  rapidly  and  in  a  questioning  tone,  going 
through  pantomime  of  pitchforking,  horns  and  humorous  horror. 
Then  once  through  in  a  tone  of  exalted  'joy,  pantomime  of  flying 
and  gazing  about  in  admiration.  Then  through  twice  in  a 
pleading  tone,  throwing  passion  and  pathos  into  the  voice.  Then 


"AND  RECITATIONS. 


29 


once  through  gravely,  with  eyes  closed,  and  wind  up  with  the 
words :] 

"The  usual  collection  will  now  be  taken  up.1' 

The  above  specimens  of  encore  bits  will  servj  ay  a  suggestion  to 
the  clever  reader  as  to  the  sort  of  material  to  usu.  The  performer 
should  keep  his  eyes  and  ears  open  in  the  street  in  society,  and 
look  through  papers  for  hints  and  touches,  and  he  will  come  across 
many  a  good  and  effective  idea.  In  these  little  things,  remember 
that  the  more  familiar  and  easy  your  style  is,  and  the  more  you 
give  them  the  tone  of  something  gotten  up  on  the  spur  of  the  mo- 
ment, the  more  effective  they  will  be. 


CLASSICAL  MUSIC. 

T  PITY  any  one  who  does  not  love  classical  music.  IKe/e  was 
A  a  time  when  I  did  not  appreciate  it  myself,  and  I  shudder  when 
I  think  of  my  benighted  state  of  mind  at  that  period.  There  was 
a  time  when  a  barrel-organ  playing  a  waltz  beneath  my  window 
would  set  me  spinning  around  the  room  in  circles  of  terpsichorian 
delight ;  when  the  brass  band  of  a  target  company  playing  "  Johnny 
■get  your  gun"  would  make  me  long  for  epaulettes  and  a  war  ; 
when  I  wagged  my  head  and  stamped  my  feet  with  the  boys  in  ths 
gallery  when  the  orchestra  played  a  nigger  melody. 

But,  happily  for  my  musical  soul,  this  has  all  passed  away,  and 
now  the  organ-man  "  must  go,"  if  it  costs  me  all  my  small  change 
to  get  rid  of  him.  The  brass  band  jars  upon  my  cultivated  ear, 
and  I  always  go  out  in  the  lobby  at  the  theatre,  and  look  cynica, 
and  bored  when  the  chef  d'orchestrc  fills  up  the  time  between  the 
acts  with  a  string  of  popular  airs.  I  am  now  a  passionate  student 
of  harmony  and  thorough  bass.  I  thrill  with  delight  when  I  con- 
template a  sequence  of  dominant  sevenths  with  major  thirds,  and 
revel  in  inversions  of  the  flatted  ninth. 

I  have  come  to  regard  what  I  used  to  call  a  "tune  "with  abso 
lute  horror  ;  and  when  I  hear  a  piece  of  music  which  is  new  to  me, 
I  listen  attentively,  and  if  I  detect  the  slightest  intimation  of  any- 


30 


WERNER'S  READINGS 


thing  like  a  melody,  I  immediately  assume  a  supercilious  expres- 
sion suitable  to  my  proper  feelings  under  the  circumstances,  for  I 
know  it  cannot  be  music  of  the  highest  order.  That  is  the  true 
test  of  music,  and  a  simple  rule  by  which  the  most  ignorant  may 
learn  whether  they  ought  or  ought  not  to  admire  any  given  piece 
of  music.  If  you  know  at  once  what  it  is  all  about,  if  it  seems  to  be 
saying  1,  2,  3,  hop,  hop,  hop,  or  1,  2,  bang,  bang,  bang,  you  may 
know  at  once  that  you  are  listening  to  something  of  a  very  low  order, 
which  it  is  your  duty  to  despise.  But  when  you  hear  something 
that  sounds  as  though  an  assorted  lot  of  notes  had  been  put  into 
a  barrel  and.  were  then  stirred  up  vigorously  like  a  kind  of  har- 
monious gruel,  you  may  know  it  is  a  fugue,  and  you  may  safely 
assume  an  interested  expression  of  countenance.  If  the  notes  ap- 
pear to  have  been  dropped  by  accident  into  a  well,  and  are  being 
fished  up  at  irregular  intervals,  in  a  sort  of  flaccid,  drowned  con- 
dition, it  is  likely  to  be  a  nocturne,  which  it  is  quite  proper  to 
admire.  '  If  the  notes  seem  to  come  in  car-loads,  each  load  different 
from  the  last,  and  if  it  seems  to  take  the  train  a  very  long  time  to 
pass  any  given  point,  it  will  turn  out  most  likely  to  be  a  symphony, 
and  symphonies,  you  know,  are  considered  very  fine.  If  the  notes 
appear  to  be  dumped  out  in  masses,  and.  shovelled  vigorously  into 
heaps,  and  then  blown  widely  into  the  air  by  explosions  of  dynamite; 
that's  a  rhapsody,  and  rhapsodies  are  the  very  latest  thing  in  music. 

Just  here  it  may  be  well  to  observe  that  the  very  highest  kinds 
of  music  are  the  oldest  and  the  newest,  that  our  admiration  should 
be  about  equally  divided  between  chromatic  fugues  composed  in 
sixteen  something  and  tone-pictures,  rhapsodies,  and  suites. 

One  general  rule  may  be  observed  in  forming  a  proper  manner 
while  attending  a  classical  concert,  which  will  save  the  neophyte  a 
world  of  trouble  and  mortification.  It  is  to  look  about  you  and 
discover  the  most  serious,  careworn-looking  man,  with  the  longest 
hair  and  the  largest  spectacles,  in  the  audience,  and  by  observing 
his  changes  of  expression,  his  fits  of  enthusiasm,  and  his  bursts  of 
applause,  and  imitating  them  closely,  you  may  always  appear  as 
one  of  the  chosen  few  who  have  entered  the  high  shekinah,  and 
know  a  thing  or  two  about  classical  music. 


READINGS  AND  RECITATIONS 

By  MARY  KYLE  DALLAS. 


Werner's  Readings  No.  3 — page  31. 


INTRODUCTION  TO  PART  II. 


I HAVE  received  so  many  requests  from  elocutionists,  readers, 
and  amateurs  for  certain  of  my  published  pieces,  that  the 
idea  oi  making  a  collection  of  the  present  nature  has  naturally 
suggested  itself.  If  among  the  selections  here  contained  there 
prove  to  be  some  that  will  aid  the  artist  toward  success  and  fur- 
nish a  source  of  enjoyment  to  my  dear  friends  the  public,  I  shall 
be  amply  rewarded  for  my  labor,  and  encouraged  to  repeat  the 
present  experiment  at  some  future  day. 

The  public's  grateful  friend, 

Mary  Kyle  Dallas. 


Werner's  Readings  No.  3 — page  3  2. 


FATHER  PAUL. 


'^HE  fisherman's  wife  went  down  to  watch. 


Her  husband's  boat  come  in  from  the  sea; 
One  babe  lay  at  rest  on  her  motherly  breast, 

Another  little  one  stood  at  her  knee; 
And  they  said  "  Good-even"  to  Father  Paul, 
Beading  his  book  by  the  old  church  wall. 

His  eyes  they  followed  them  over  the  sand — 
Over  the  sand  and  down  to  the  sea — 

"  Oh,  never  a  woman  in  all  the  world 

Will  lull  my  babe  on  her  breast/'  sighed  he. 

"  Mea  culpa,"  moaned  Father  Paul, 

"To  wear  serge  and  sandal  is  not  all." 

Afar  the  glint  of  the  fisherman's  sail 

Caught  Rosabel's  eye  as  she  went  to  prayers. 

"Oh,  happy,"  said  she,  "  the  woman  must  be 
Who  joy  and  woe  with  her  loved  one  shares  ! 

Would  that  a  boat  sailed  over  the  sea, 

Freighted  as  that  boat  is,  for  me." 

Father  Paul  by  the  convent  wall 

Striving  to  read,  striving  to  pray, 
Saw  with  his  heart,  if  not  with  his  eyes, 

What  woman  it  was  that  came  that  way. 
"  Oh,  the  heart  is  a  snare,"  sighed  Father  Paul, 
"  And  Satan  tempteth  us,  one  and  all." 

Father  confessor,  he  sat  in  his  chair; 

Penitent,  knelt  she  upon  her  knee. 
"  The  purest  angel  in  all  the  skies 

Might  have  more  sin  to  confess  than  she." 
Thus  to  himself  said  Father  Paul, 
Thus  to  himself,  and  it  was  not  all. 


WERNER'S  READINGS 


He  put  the  crucifix  into  her  hand — 
Into  her  hand  as  she  knelt  at  his  knee. 

"Thou  hast  not  stolen?    Thou  hast  not  lied ? 
Thou  hast  not  been  light  of  love  ?"  asked  he. 

For  this  he  must  say,  young  Father  Paul, 

To  kneeling  penitents,  one  and  all. 

And  to  each  and  all  of  the  things  he  said, 

Of  the  things  he  asked,  as  she  knelt  at  his  knee, 

The  girl  said  "  No;  "  yet  her  golden  head 
Lower  and  lower  in  shame  bowed  she. 

"  Then  must  thou  tell  me,"  sighed  Father  Paul, 

"  Whether  thou  hast  done  wrong  at  all." 

Then  in  the  silence  one  could  hear — 
The  silence  that  lay  between  the  two — 

The  monastery  bells  ring  out, 
Frightening  the  swallows  as  home  they  flew. 

" Daughter,"  he  whispered,  "tell  me  all." 
She  made  no  answer  to  Father  Paul. 

Eang  the  bells  on  the  twilight  air, 

Lengthened  the  shade  of  the  convent  wall; 

Silently  still  the  girl  knelt  there, 
Knelt  at  the  feet  of  Father  Paul. 

Not  a  word,  not  a  word,  not  a  word  was  said  ; 

But  his  young  hand  rested  upon  her  head. 

"  Hast  thou  coveted  aught  ?"  said  Father  Paul, 
As  he  saw  the  fisher  man's  wife  go  by, 

Cuddling  her  babe  in  her  knitted  shawl, 
Lulled  by  the  croon  of  a  lullaby. 

"  It  needeth  our  Lord's  grace  most  of  all 

To  covet  nothing,"  said  Father  Paul. 


AND  RECITATIONS. 


She  saw  the  fisherman  kiss  his  wife 

And  toss  the  urchin,  who  crowed  with  glee, 

And  under  her  lashes  the  hot  tears  crept. 
"  Oh,  I  am  sinner  of  sinners  !"  said  she  ; 

"  I  have  coveted  that,  0  Father  Paul, 

Which  is  heaven's  only  and  heaven's  all  \" 

cl  Is  it  the  treasure  our  coffers  hold  ? 

Or  the  gems  on  the  shrine  of  Our  Lady  fair? 
Or  the  cups  and  flagons  of  beaten  gold  ? 

Or  the  pearls  that  gleam  in  the  Virgin's  hair? 
Or  the  lands  of  our  Church  ?"  asked  Father  Paul; 
"  Or  aught  that  our  Church  her  own  can  call  ?" 

"  Oh,  I  am  sinner  of  sinners  \"  said  she  ; 

"  Oh,  I  am  evil  beyond  compare  ! 
A  heart  has  turned  from  this  weary  world, 

And  I  to  covet  that  pure  heart  dare. 
Its  love  is  given  to  things  divine, 
And  I,  a  woman,  would  have  it  mine  !" 

She  could  not  look  up  into  his  eyes, 

But  he  heard  the  throb  of  her  frightened  heart, 
And  saw  the  flush  of  her  forehead  rise 

Where  the  pale-gold  tresses  fell  apart  ; 
And  his  own  heart's  trembling  told  him  all 
She  would  have  hidden  from  Father  Paul. 

"  Child,  thou  art  holier  far  than  I; 

Nearer  thy  bosom  the  angels  come. 
Oh,  a  soul  so  pure  can  never  lie. 

Life's  holiest  things  are  heart  and  home, 
Holier  far  than  the  granite  wall 
Of  a  monkish  prison,"  said  Father  Paul. 


WERNER'S  READINGS 


And  he  did  not  kiss  her,  as  often  do 

Father  confessors,  upon  the  brow : 
On  her  mouth  his  mouth,  to  kisses  new, 

Showered  kisses  warmer  for  that,  I  trow; 
"And  may  God  judge  us,  my  love,  for  all, 
Though  the  priesthood  ban  us,"  said  Father  Paul. 

The  monks  of  the  monastery  tell, 

How,  one  midsummer  eve,  in  woman's  guise, 
At  the  ringing  of  the  vesper  bell 

Satan  gave  them  a  sad  surprise, 
And  bore  from  the  shade  of  their  sacred  wall 
Their  best-loved  brother,  young  Father  Paul. 

But  far  away,  under  other  skies, 

'Midst  yellow  waving  of  golden  grain, 

A  homestead's  happy  walls  arise, 

Where  love  and  plenty  hold  blissful  reign; 

And  he  who  is  master  of  it  all  * 

His  wife  calls  tenderly,  "  Father  Paul." 


BROKEN  DREAMS. 

HP  HEY  wake  me  from  my  happy  sleep, 

The  moonlight's  pure  and  pallid  beams. 
Diana  fair,  Diana  cold, 

Why  hast  thou  bid  me  leave  my  dreams  ? 
For  they  were  warm  as  thou  art  chill, 
And  all  my  senses  Avere  a-thrill. 

What  were  they  ?    Ah !  they  fade  so  soon. 

Two  long-divided  paths  had  crossed, 
But  where,  or  if  'twere  night  or  morn, 

Of  this  all  memory  is  lost. 
I  only  know  a  love  came  back 
That  died  long  since  upon  the  rack. 


AND  RECITATIONS. 


And  bitter  years  were  blotted  out 
With  all  their  weight  of  pride  and  pain  ; 

As  we  can  never  meet  on  earth, 
I  and  another  met  again, 

Amidst  some  wild,  sweet  dreamland  change, 

That  made  all  right  as  it  was  strange, 

Eich  odors  from  unnumbered  flowers 
And  murmurous  music  filled  the  air, 

And  all  adown  the  golden  hours 
We  drifted,  to  some  sweet  nowhere. 

The  whole  world  for  our  own  had  we, 

And  love  was  our  eternity. 

Diana  fair,  Diana  pale, 

'Twas  ill  to  banish  dreams  so  sweet ; 
They  fly  as  fly  the  fleecy  clouds 

That  giide  beneath  thy  silver  feet. 
Calm  from  Endymion  thou  could'st  part, 
But  I — I  have  a  woman's  heart. 


THE  STATUE'S  STORY. 

T  AM  a  statue  of  marble, 
I  am  white,  I  am  cold, 
I  stand  in  a  niche  of  the  window 

Of  the  grange  gray  and  old  ; 
The  sunshine  falls  over  me, 

Nor  warms  me  one  whit, 
The  noontide  grows  golden, 

/  whiter  yet. 

I  stand  in  a  niche  of  the  window 

Of  the  old  gray  grange; 
All  through  the  bright  day's  changes 

I  know  no  change; 


WERNER'S  READINGS 


Before  me,  without  in  the  road, 

Carriage  and  wain  roll  by; 
Men  a-horse,  men  on  foot, 

Nothing  care  I. 

Within  is  a  little  white  couch. 

Spread  over  with  silk, 
And  a  pillow  of  eider-down, 

Whiter  than  milk. 
Over  the  head  of  the  bed  hang 

A  cross  and  a  face, — 
The  face  of  a  beautiful  woman 

All  passion  and  grace. 

When  the  red  day  hath  departed^ 

And  the  moonshine 
Rims  the  crown  of  each  mountain, 

Fringes  each  pine, 
Through  the  still  pass  I  hear, 

Rippling  along, 
The  voice  of  my  love,  my  dear, 

Lifted  in  song. 

"I  am  coming,  beloved,"  he  sings, 

"  Coming  to  worship  thee." 
Clearly  his  sweet  voice  rings; 

But  he  sings  not  to  me. 
*Tis  to  the  face  of  the  woman, 

Glowing  and  bright, 
That  he  chants,  and  not  to  a  statue 

Of  marble,  dead  white. 

When  in  mid -skies  the  moon  hangeth, 

Looking  at  me, 
My  best-beloved  comes  to  his  chamber, 

Bendeth  his  knee; 


AND  RECITATIONS. 


First  to  the  cross  at  his  pillow, 

Then  to  the  face 
Of  the  golden-haired,  dusk-eyed  woman, 

All  passion  and  grace. 

He  sayeth  to  heaven  a  prayer, 

To  her  wild  words  doth  he  say: 
I  have  heard,  as  I  stood  in  the  window 

Of  the  grange,  old  and  gray, 
Accents  burning  with  passion, 

Woful  with  long  delay, 
I  knew  what  they  meant,  though  I  stand  here, 

A  statue  to-day. 

For  when  the  angel  of  slumber 

Waveth  her  dusky  wing, 
Lulls  him  asleep  by  her  magic, 

Happens  an  o'er-strange  thing. 
I  have  an  hour  when  the  pulses 

Of  life  are  mine  own, 
And  I  stand  no  more  in  the  window, 

A  statue  of  stone. 

My  cheeks  grow  red  like  the  roses, 

My  lips  are  parted  with  sighs; 
I  step  from  the  niche  in  the  window. 

And  kiss  his  sleeping  eyes; 
I  pass  my  hand  o'er  his  forehead, 

In  my  fingers  his  hair  I  take; 
I  call  him  love-names  many, 

Nor  fear  that  he  will  wake. 

For  the  same  strange  spell  lies  on  him 

Then,  that  lieth  else  on  me. 
The  hour  that  he  sleepeth  I  awake, 

My  waking  he  may  not  see. 


40 


WERNER'S  READINGS 


I  kiss  him  until  the  cock-crow, 

And  then  I  make  my  moan, 
And  stand  in  the  niche  of  the  window, 

A  statue  of  stone. 

At  dawn,  down  the  pass  of  the  mountain, 

His  farewell  I  hear. 
Echo  flings  back  the  burden, 

"  Adieu,  my  clear, 
Until  I  return  again 

To  kneel  at  thy  shrine, 
Kissing  the  cross  and  thee, 

0  lady  mine !" 

Oh,  his  kisses  upon  my  marble 

Would  wake  it,  I  know; 
He  could  break  the  spell  that  has  frozen 

My  bosom  to  snow. 
But  he  knows  not  the  power  of  his  magic. 

He  turneth  away 
To  the  picture,  and  leaves  me  a  statue 

In  the  niche,  cold  and  gray. 


OUT  OF  THE  BOTTLE. 


TT  was  a  rat-trap  of  an  old  house.  Its  walls  bulged,  its  floors 
slanted,  the  cellar  was  full  of  water,  the  roof  leaked  ;  no  one 
had  lived  there  for  years,  but  it  had  once  been  a  handsome  place, 
and  the  name  it  was  called  by  was  the  name  of  a  good  old  family. 
Why  did  it  stand  empty  until  it  fell  to  decay? 

Haunted — said  the  neighbors.  And  so  I,  who  have  a  predilection 
for  haunted  houses,  went  wandering  about  it  one  day,  sending  the 
mice  scampering  away  into  their  holes,  frightening  the  black  beetles, 
and  enraging  the  spiders  that  were  weaving  their  webs  from  one 
door-post  to  the  other.  Where  did  the  ghost  live  ?  I  looked  into 
the  parlor.    The  tattered  remains  of  some  old  shades  hung  at  the 


AN'D  RECITATIONS, 


41 


windows,  and  a  rusty  shovel  and  tongs  upon  the  hearth  told  of  the 
hospitable  fires  that  had  smouldered  out  long  ago.  In  the  bedrooms 
only  a  broken  candlestick  and  a  cracked  ewer  had  been  left  over 
from  those  days  when  white  linen  was  spread  upon  the  bed  in  the 
guest-chamber,  and  the  crow  of  the  chanticleer  awakened  master 
and  mistress,  and  Dolly  the  dairy-maid,  and  all  the  rosy  children. 

The  ghost  was  not  there;  neither  was  he  up  garret,  where  he  be- 
longed. I  looked  the  whole  house  over  for  him,  until  at  last  in  the 
kitchen,  where  a  red  and  cracked  stove  was  all  that  remained  -to 
whisper  of  the  many  comfortable  dinners  that  had  been  cooked  and 
eaten,  I  found  on  a  high  old  shelf  a  long,  black  bottle,  and  rather 
from  idleness  than  interest  set  it  upon  the  mantel-shelf. 

No  sooner  had  I  done  so  than  I  saw7  that  it  was  no  ordinary  bottle. 
It  looked  like  one,  as  it  stood  in  the  closet,  but  no  sooner  was  it  set 
upon  the  mantel-piece,  with  its  label,  "  Whiskey,"  plainly  visible  to 
the  beholder,  than  I  saw  rising  from  its  mouth  a  sort  of  smoke, 
which  by  slow  degrees  condensed  itself  into  a  figure  of  hideous 
aspect,  though  of  tiny  proportions,  until  finally  I  saw  perched  upon 
the  neck  of  the  bottle  a  little,  greenish-colored  imp,  with  long 
horns,  Satanic  hoofs,  red  eyes,  and  great,  white  fangs.  I  stared  at 
it  in  horror. 

"  Who  are  you  ?"  I  asked. 

The  thing  looked  at  me  and  grinned,  slapped  the  bottle  with  its 
hand,  and  answered : 

"  I  am  the  ghost  who  haunts  this  house." 
I  shrank  away. 

"  You  needn't  be  afraid," it  said.  "I'm  harmless  until  some  one 
fills  my  bottle.  I'm  quite  superannuated  now.  I'm  garrulous  in 
my  old  age,  and  would  like  to  talk.  I  remember  when  I  came  here. 
It  was  on  a  wedding-day.  Two  young  people  were  married,  and  an 
old  man  brought  me  in  this  very  bottle  as  a  wedding  present. 
'The  best  old  Bourbon,'  said  he.  No  one  saw  me  grinning  through 
the  glass,  but  they  pulled  the  cork  and  out  I  came.  I  perched  my- 
self where  I  could  see  them  all,  and  nodded  as  they  pledged  each 
other. 

"That  night  the  bride  sat  and  cried  by  herself;  the  bridegroom 


42 


WERNER'S  READINGS 


was  lying  drunk  on  the  sofa  below.  I  liked  that,  ha,  ha!  It  pleased 
me.  After  that  I  stayed  here.  The  bottle  kept  full.  In  a  little 
while  the  bride  did  not  cry  about  it.    She  took  her  glass  too. 

"They  were  handsome  young  people.  It  took  two  years  for  his 
nose  to  turn  purple,  and  she  was  not  red-eyed  for  five.  Children 
came;  they  had  whiskey  and  sugar  to  suck  before  they  were  able  to 
eat  meat — five  of  them — and  the  father  was  seldom  sober.  No 
wonder  the  old  place  was  mortgaged  soon,  the  woods  cut  down, 
some  land  sold. 

"  All  went  to  ruin  fast.  Once,  however,  I  was  disappointed.  The 
man  swore  he  would  reform,  stuffed  me  up  into  the  corner  of  a  shelf, 
and  kept  sober  for  a  year.  I  was  wretched  then.  However,  one 
day  a  new  baby  came.    Old  Nurse  Dickerman  was  with  the  mother. 

<ffJust  a  little  something  warm  would  do  us  all  good/  she  said  ; 
and  down  came  the  bottle,  out  came  the  cork.  Out  I  flew.  I  saw 
my  man's  eyes  glitter,  and  I  danced  an  hour  that  night  as  he 
sprawled  on  the  floor  before  the  fire,  and  his  youngest  boy  pulled 
his  whiskers  and  cried,  'Dit  up,  papa.' 

"  But  the  father  did  not  awaken,  and  the  little  thing,  left  to 
itself — for  Nurse  Dickerman  was  very  sound  asleep  herself, — pulled 
the  kettle  of  boiling  water  over  upon  it.    It  was  scalded  to  death. 

"  Then  there  was  another  spell  of  corking  me  up.  Bah!  I  knew 
it  would  not  last  forever.  But  it  did  last  a  good  while — for  years, 
indeed;  and  the  eldest  children  were  tall  slips  of  lads,  and  every* 
thing  wTas  looking  up  again,  when  one  Christmas  time  somebody 
mixed  a  bowl  of  punch.  It  was  a  merry  Christmas  for  me.  At 
midnight  two  tipsy  boys  fell  to  fighting — two  brothers  who  had 
never  quarrelled  before.    One  killed  the  other. 

"This  time  the  bottle  was  not  corked  again.  The  father  drank 
to  drown  his  sorrow  ;  the  son  to  bury  his  remorse  ;  the  mother  that 
she  might  not  remember.  Let  me  think  it  over.  What  came  then  ? 
More  land  sold — decay  and  desolation  everywhere.  One  son  runs 
away  to  sea.  One  robs  his  employer  and  goes  to  prison.  The  girl 
— well,  she  ran  away,  too;  I  don't  know  all  the  story.  And  one 
night  my  man — I  call  him  my  man  because  he  loved  me  so — was 
brought  home  on  a  shutter— a  bleeding  mass — dead.    He  had  been 


AND  RECITATIONS. 


43 


very  drunk,  and  had  gone  up  into  the  church-tower  and  jumped 
off. 

"Now  only  the  woman  was  left— an  old  woman,  shabby,  dirty, 
poor,  a  widow,  and  childless.  She  was  a  pretty  young  bride  when 
I  first  saw  her.  She  filled  me  well  ;  she  emptied  me  often.  At 
last,  one  day  she  sat  over  the  fire.  She  had  been  drinking,  and  her 
breath  was  heavy  with  the  fumes  of  liquor.  A  flame  leaded  up  and 
caught  it.  The  next  morning  what  looked  like  a  charred  log  lay 
upon  the  floor.  The  coroner  called  it  'Spontaneous  combustion/ 
I  couldn't  help  laughing." 

"You  fiend!"  cried  I. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  little  imp,  "  that's  what  I  am.  I'm  stupid  now, 
though,  and  superannuated,  as  I  said.  Do  me  a  favor — won't  you  ? 
Just  fill  the  bottle  up,  and  you'll  see  what  I  can  do." 

But  the  next  moment  I  had  seized  the  bottle  by  the  neck  and 
cast  it  upon  the  hearth,  where  it  lay  scattered  in  a  thousand  frag- 
ments, and  so  laid  the  ghost  of  the  old  house. 


MOTHERS  AND  FATHERS: 
TWO  PICTURES. 

I  ITTLE  WILLY. — Mother  ?  Oh,  you  mean  my  mamma.  Oh, 
she's  nicer  than  anybody  else.  She  calls  me  her  little  dar- 
ing, and  she  gives  me  pretty  toys,  and  reads  me  nice  books.  She 
;eaches  me  to  say  my  prayers  at  night  ;  and  nothing  can  hurt  me 
iven  when  it  is  dark,  because  the  good  angels  watch  over  me.  But 
I'm  not  afraid,  anyhow,  for  she  would  cuddle  me  all  up  if  anything 
nade  me  cry.  We  go  out  to  walk  together,  and  she  tells  me  about 
ill  the  things  I  see  ;  and  I'm  going  to  learn  fast,  and  grow  up,  and 
>e  a  big  boy  to  be  proud  of.  I  won't  do  anything  mean  to  make 
ler  ashamed ;  and  I  wouldn't  say  a  naughty  swear  word  like  the 
>oys  in  the  street,  because  she  would  cry  to  hear  me  so  wicked. 
Ihe  made  me  that  little  white  rabbit  and  my  new  jacket,  and  when 
had  the  measles  she  sat  by  me  all  day.    Once  she  went  away  on  a 


44 


WERNER'S  READINGS 


visit,  and  I  cried — I  was  so  lonesome.  She  was  lonesome,  too.  Sh 
don't  like  to  go  away  from  home  long.  She's  the  nicest  person  in 
the  world  ;  only  papa  is  just  as  nice.  He  kisses  me  when  he  goes 
out,  and  he  rides  me  on  his  back  in  the  garden,  and  he  makes  rab 
bits  on  the  wall  with  his  fingers,  and  he  takes  mamma  and  me  out 
to  ride,  and  says  we  are  his  treasures,  and  he  takes  care  of  us  both 
and  mamma  says  he's  the  best  man  in  the  world,  and  I  guess  he  is 
Little  Neddie. — My  mamma  is  pretty.  She's  so  pretty  1  wan 
to  kiss  her,  but  I  muss  her  hair.  She  don't  often  come  to  breakfast 
with  papa  and  me,  because  she  gets  so  tired  dancing  at  the  balls,  sie 
When  I  tumbled  down  stairs  and  broke  my  arm  she  was  at  a  party 
and  she  didn't  know  it  until  next  day.  But  if  she  gets  up  I  don' 
think  it's  nice,  for  papa  scolds  her,  and  says  he'll  put  an  end  tcjJpoHtica] 
waltzing  with  the  captain.  Does  your  ma  ever  waltz  with  captains 
And  do  you  think  pa  don't  like  it  because  the  captain  might  ge 
mad  and  kill  her  with  his  sword?  I'm  afraid  of  soldiers.  I'nfjtutei 
afraid  of  ghosts,  too.  Biddy  says  if  I  don't  sleep  sound  a  ghost  wil 
fetch  me  up  chimney.  Biddy  is  our  French  maid,  with  a  capfwuey, 
She  gives  the  bread  and  butter  to  her  cousin  James,  and  I  can't  g 
to  sleep  because  I  am  so  hungry.  I  told  pa  once,  and  he  said^ 
"  Poor  child !  why,  have  you  no  mother  ?"  but  I  asked  if  ma  wasiv 
my  mother,  and  I  don't  know  what  he  meant.  I  don't  go  into  ma 
room,  because  I'm  troublesome.  I  spilt  the  aurora,  one  day,  a 
over  the  rouge  and  lily  white.  Don't  you  know  what  they  are  fen. 
Why,  they  are  things  to  make  ma  look  pretty.  But  I  wouldn't  cai* 
if  pa  would  make  me  a  kite,  like  the  one  your  pa  made  for  yoi  5D1pb  n 
But  he's  always  so  busy,  and  he  groans  so  when  he's  home.  Enditcloti 
goes  down  town  all  day,  and  once  I  asked  ma  what  he  went  fo  Well,?] 
and  she  said,  "To  make  money,  and  that  is  all  he  is  good  ftin h thooi 
Did  your  pa  ever  fail  ?  My  pa  says  he  will,  if  ma's  dressmakei ' a  hat  wii 
bill  is  three  thousand  and  twenty-one  dollars  again.  But  ma  sa 
he's  only  a  miser.  I  guess  I'd  like  to  come  to  your  house  and  ha  fe 
your  ma  and  pa  instead  of  mine. 


isajrii 

(lu( 

lading 
i  ikk 
life, 
iouk  < 


in  a 


litter  wi 
a 


et 
single 
often  tei 
L 

anjpe( 


par  nice,  j 

back, 
•liaa,  n\ 


AND  RECITATIONS. 


45 


MRS.  TUBBS  AND  POLITICAL  ECON- 
OMY. 


ut  \  \  /"ELL,  really,  since  listening  to  that  wonderful  Miss  Bigwitz 
■\  who  lectured  to  us  on  Thursday  night,  I  have  felt  ashamed 


115 


)f  myself.  For  a  girl  who  was  so  much  thought  of  in  school,  I 
'lave  neglected  my  mind  dreadfully.  I  know  Miss  Bigwitz  is  right 
n  saying  that  a  woman  can't  be  her  husband's  companion  unless 
he  does  improve  her  mind.  My  husband,  Jefferson  Tubbs,  the 
eading  butter-dealer  in  Creamtown,  ought  not  to  find  a  want  of  in- 
ellectual  companionship  at  home.  I'll  begin  this  minute  and  read 
political  economy.  It's  vacation,  and  the  children  have  no  lessons 
o  look  over.  No  better  time,  I'm  sure.  Here  it  is":  "  Principles 
e|f  Political  Economy ;"  and  here  is  a  chapter  on  "  Credit  as  a  Sub- 
stitute for  Money." 

I'm  sure  that  credit  did  not  turn  out  well  as  a  substitute  for 
cs  loney,  when  Jefferson  let  those  Poachers  have  ten  tubs  of  the  best 
utter  without  sending  in  his  bill.    They  haven't  paid  for  'em  yet. 
Ji!    I  agree  with  this  writer:  "The  functions  of  credit  have  been 
subject  of  as  much  misunderstanding  and  as  much  confusion  as 
ny  single  topic  in  political  economy."    I  should  think  so,  indeed  ! 
often  tell  Jefferson  what  I  think  of  that.    No  credit  ought  to  be 
iven.    Let  me  see  what  comes  next.    Ah,  yes:  "  This  is  not  owing 
.,,aI)  any  peculiar  difficulty  in  the  theory  of  the  subject,  but  to  the 
v01Dmplex  nature  of  some  of  the  mercantile  phenomena  in  which 
g-edit  clothes  itself." 
Well,  what  a  wonderful  observer  this  writer  is,  to  be  sure.  I've 
ften  thought  I  should  be  ashamed  to  go  out,  as  Mrs.  Poacher  does, 
J I  a  hat  with  fourteen  ostrich  tips  that  have  not  been  paid  for,  and 
brocade  velvet  cloak  she  is  dunned  for  every  morning.  Mercan- 
tile phenomena,  indeed!    That's  just  what  she  wears!    I'd  rather 
ear  nice,  plain,  lady-like  things.    No  mercantile  phenomena  goes 
l  my  back!    Oh,  gracious,  what's  the  matter  now? 
Selina,  what  is  the  matter  ?    You're  soaked  to  the  skin.  Fell 
to  the  pond,  and  most  drowned,  and  got  a  little  fish  in  your  ear  ? 


wii 


said 


are 


ntfo 


46 


WERNER'S  READINGS 


Why,  you'll  be  deaf  for  life.  Oh,  there,  it's  out!  You've  killed 
me  with  fright.  Where's  the  baby  ?  You  don't  know!  Run  every- 
body and  look  for  baby.  Oh,  gracious!  Nora's  got  her!  What  a 
mercy!  You  shan't  one  of  you  go  out  again.  Sit  down  there,  and 
read  your  books.  1  can't  improve  my  mind  while  you  go  on  so. 
Political  economy  takes  a  lot  of  studying  over,  and  it's  a  most  im- 
portant subject.  It's  tiresome,  too.  I  feel  as  if  I'd  improved  my 
mind  enough  for  one  day,  and  I'll  do  a  block  of  my  crazy  quilt  now, 
for,  really,  my  brain  feels  quite  overworked,  and  I  ought  to  rest  it. 


AUNT  BETSY  ON  MARRIAGE. 

i/   

"T^VEAR  ME!  When  we  think  of  what  we  might  do  and  don't  do 
— of  the  opportunities  we  neglect — we  have  great  cause  to  re- 
proach ourselves.  I'm  very,  very  sorry  that  youthful  levity  caused 
me  to  refuse  the  hand  of  Mr.  Melancthon  Gypsum  when  I  was  a 
girl.  I  objected  to  him  because  he  had  warts  on  his  nose  and  was 
cross-eyed.  What  a  silly  young  creature  I  was,  to  be  sure!  Such 
an  opportunity!  Why,  you  know  him,  dear.  It  is  the  Dr.  Gypsum 
who  is  paying  attention  to  Widow  Potkins  now.  He  has  found  five 
partners  to  share  his  labors.  Why,  you  shocking  girl!  No,  he's 
not  a  Mormon.  He's  had  the  misfortune  to  lose  five  wives.  Thath 
nothing  to  smile  at,  I'm  sure  ! 

When  he  proposed  to  me  I  was  a  mere  child.  He  told  me  he  waf 
well  aware  that  no  woman's  constitution  would  stand  the  climate  h( 
was  going  to  more  than  two  years.  He  was  then  twenty-one,  anc 
expected  to  stay  abroad  until  he  was  forty,  so  he  would  have  nine  o: 
ten  wives  at  least  during  his  sojourn  in  that  foreign  land,  and 
suppose  he  thought  it  was  my  duty  to  be  the  first  one.  He  didn' 
look  for  happiness  in  this  wicked  world,  he  said,  and  he  hoped 
didn't  either.  But,  as  I  said,  I  was  frivolous  at  the  time.  The  firs 
Mrs.  Gypsum  lived  two  years.  I've  read  her  biography.  Th 
natives  used  her  dreadfully,  She  was  just  eighteen  when  she  lef 
this  world. 

Ah!  when  I  called  at  the  parsonage  the  other  day  I  saw  the  por 


pictor 

n 

pictur 
Washi 


AND  RECITATIONS. 


47 


traits  of  Dr.  Gypsum's  wives,  all  in  a  row :  Clarissa  Gypsum,  aged 
eighteen;  Maria  Gypsum,  aged  twenty;  Martha  Gypsum,  aged 
seventeen  (she  died  on  the  voyage  over);  Sarah  Gypsum,  aged 
twenty-four,  and  Amelia  Gypsum,  who  lived  to  be  forty.  She  was 
a  widow  when  the  doctor  married  her,  and  the  only  one  of  his  wives 
that  knew  how  to  manage  natives.  Mr.  Gypsum  came  home  one 
day  and  found  her  driving  two  of  'em  about  harnessed  to  a  little 
basket  carriage.  They  thought  it  was  their  duty;  she'd  told 'em 
'twas.  Mr.  Gypsum  didn't  like  it,  but  /  think  it  was  right  smart  of 
her.    Don't  you  ? 

They  fried  her  in  slices  at  last,  I'm  told,  and  offered  her  up  to  a 
big  stone  idol  with  three  noses,  that  they  thought  all  the  world  of. 
All  of  'em  came  to  some  violent  end  but  the  one  that  died  going 
over;  and  two  or  three  of  the  little  babies  were  carried  off,  ar>d  may- 
be are  worshipping  idols  now,  for  all  we  know  about  them.  Dear 
me!  I've  seen  the  biographies  of  the  five  wives,  all  in  blue  and 
gold,  with  a  portrait  on  the  first  page. 

Ah!  if  I  hadn't  been  so  frivolous  mine  might  have  been  among 
'em.  There  isn't  one  so  good  looking  as  I  am,  and  how  proud  I 
should  have  been  of  it,  to  be  sure.  But  that's  the  way  with  young 
girls  ;  they  can't  see  what's  best  for  'em. 


THE  SLOWLYS  AT  THE  PHOTOGRA- 
PHER'S. 


APPEN,"  said  Sam,  the  other  day,  to  pa,  "have  you  had  your 


pictur'  taken  yet  ?" 
"No,"  says  pa,  "we  hain't.    Cherubs  and  young  gals  look  well 
enough  in  pictur's,  but  arter  fifty  years  o'  seafarin'  a  man  ain't 
pictorial." 

"Why,  cappen,"  says  Sam,  "all  distinguished  men  have  their 
pictur's  taken.  There's  Sherman,  and  Sheridan,  and  General 
Washington,  and  Bismarck,  and  Gladstone,  and  all  the  rest  of  'em 
have  all  been  took  frequent." 

"Well/'  says  the  cappen,  " that's  no  rule  for  me." 


48 


WERNER'S  READINGS 


"  Oh,  pa,"  says  Minervy,  "let's  hev  our  pictures  taken  in  a  family 
group." 

"  Do,  pa,"  says  I. 

"  Very  well/'  says  pa.    "  If  you  want  to  do  it,  do  it.    I'll  go  along." 

So  we  went.  The  pictur'-room  was  atop  o'  the  house,  and  arter 
we'd  climbed  there  nobody  but  the  cappen,  who  is  used  to  gales  of 
wind,  could  speak  to  the  folks  for  want  of  breath. 

So  he  marches  up  to  the  gentleman  that  stood  in  the  middle  of 
the  room,  looking,  us  Minervy  said,  just  like  Shakespeare,  with  his 
turn-down  collar  and  p'inted  beard,  though  I  never  knew  Mr. 
Shakespeare  myself,  and  couldn't  say.  And  says  he,  "Here's  Mrs. 
Cappen  Slowly,  and  my  darter  Minervy,  and  Cousin  Sam,  and  me, 
all  come  to  be  took,  mate.  We  want  to  be  in  one  pictur',  and  take 
us  as  large  and  bright  as  you  can.  It  ain't  my  doin'  comin',  but 
the  wimmin  folks',  so  don't  sot  it  down  to  vanity." 

By  this  time  Sam  got  his  breath. 

"  Mister,"  says  he,  "the  cappen  is  modest.  He's  worthy  not  only 
of  havin'  his  pictur'  took,  but  of  havin'  it  framed.  This  here  is 
Cappen  Slowly,  commander  o'  the  Amelia,  lastly  mnnin'  betwixt 
Onerville  and  Muddy  Holler  with  cargoes  o'  kindlin'-wood  and  fine 
feed,  but  formerly  afloat  on  the  boundin'  billers  of  the  onconquora- 
ble  ocean.    Take  him  good." 

"We  shall  do  our  best,"  says  the  pictur'-taker. 

Jest  then  /  got  my  breath.  "  Mister,"  says  I,  "  if  you  please,  I'd 
like  to  be  took  younger.  I've  got  dreadful  old  these  last  ten  years, 
I'd  ruther  hev'  my  wrinkles  left  out." 

Mr.  Shakespeare — I  mean  the  man  that  looked  like  him — bowed 
and  smiled. 

Minervy  said  nothin'.  Only  when  she  wus  asked  she  said  she  pre- 
ferred standin'  behind  her  ma  and  pa.  So  Sam  he  preferred  that 
too. 

So  we  wus  all  screwed  up  at  the  back  of  our  necks  as  if  we  were 
going  to  be  executed,  and  the  gentleman  says : 

"I  beg  you  will  not  move/'  and  retires  behind  a  curtain.  Just 
then  the  cappen  takes  out  his  pocket-handkercher  and  blows  his 
mose. 


AND  RECITATIONS.  49 

It  wusin  consequence  o'  that  that  the  pictur'  took  as  it  did.  It 
wus  all  pocket-handkerchers. 

The  gentleman  looked  perlite  but  worried. 

Says  he,  "  If  you  please,  you  must  sit  again,  and  quietly,  I  beg." 
So  we  wus  screwed  up  again. 

This  time  toe  wus  all  right,  but  Minervy  and  Sam  were  two  big 
blots  bumpin'  against  each  other. 

The  cappen  look  at  'em. 

"Sam,"  says  he,  "I  don't  make  no  charges,  but  ef  you'd  kissed 
Minervy,  this  here  might  have  looked  jest  so/' 
"  As  ef  I'd  have  let  him,"  says  Minervy. 
Sam  only  turned  the  color  o'  biled  beets. 

So  we  sot  again,  like  clockwork,  bolt  upright.  Bat  bless  you  ! 
jest  as  all  wus  ready,  I  sneezed  !  'Twusn't  my  fault.  I  couldn't 
help  it. 

This  time  Mr.  Shakespeare  (I  can't  help  call  in'  him  so)  wus  per- 
litely  mad.  He  gave  us  a  lectur'  on  the  perpriety  o'  sittin'  quiet 
when  we  wus  a  bein'  took. 

"Well,"  said  I,  "I  know  it  is  necessary,  but  sneezin'  is  done  in 
unguarded  minutes.    I  couldn't  help  it." 

So  we  sot  again.  This  time  you  never  saw  such  frozen  objects — 
like  cast  iron.  We  must  take  good  now,  says  I.  But  at  the  solemn 
minute  of  coverin'  up  the  pictur'  machine  and  Mr.  Shakespeare 
altogether  with  black,  like  a  walkin'  funeral,  Sam  trod  on  Minervy's 
toe,  and,  in  gettin'  off,  oversot  himself.  Over  he  came  a  top  o'  the 
cappen,  and  both  of  'em  together  on  the  floor,  and  the  back  out  of 
the  chair,  and  two  of  the  spokes,  which,  bein'  of  white  wood,  I  took 
for  the  cappen's  bones  when  I  see 'em  a  lyin'  on  the  floor,  and. 
screeched  horrid. 

But  nobody  wus  hurt,  except  that  by  this  time  Mr.  Shakespeare 
wus  frantic,  and  came  out  so  red  in  the  face  I  thought  he  wus  a 
goin'  to  have  apperplexy. 

Says  the  cappen,  "Mate,  we've  broke  your  chair  and  spiled  your 
pictur'.    What's  the  damage  ?" 

But  he  said  the  chair  had  been  injured  before,  and  asked  us  to 
sit  again. 


50 


WERNER'S  READINGS 


So  we  sot.    This  time  nothing  happened.    Mr.  Shakespeare  came 
out  and  told  ns  the  pictur'  wus  all  right. 
And  we  waited. 

He  went  into  a  little  room,  and  staid  a  while. 

Then  out  he  marched,  smiling  contented,  and  proud,  and  give  us 
the  pictur'. 

I  give  one  look  at  it.    Says  I : 

"  Them  are  us?"    Then  I  sat  down  overcome. 

The  pictur'  wus  on  iron,  kinder  cloudy  and  the  biggest  parts  of 
us  wus  our  upper  lips.  My  mouth  wus  from  ear  to  ear,  and  Min- 
ervy's  met  behind.  As  for  the  cappen,  his  nose  is  small  by  natur' 
and  as  it  wus  took  by  art  it  skeered  me. 

The  cappen  looked  at  it  kinder  stern. 

"  My  lad,"  says  he,  "  we  hev'  give  you  trouble,  but  you'd  orter 
hev'  revenged  yourself  better  than  to  caricatur'  us  this  way.  We 
ain't  objects  of  ridicule  I  hope,  my  lad,  to  you  and  your  mate  ?" 

"  Far  from  it,"  says  Mr.  Shakespeare.  "  Those  are  in  my  opinion 
good  likenesses." 

"  Mate,"  says  the  cappen,  "  it's  hard  to  know  yourself.  I'd  hev 
said,  wal,  mebbe  arter  all  that  is  like  me.  But  I  kin  see  Mrs. 
Slowly,  and  Minervy,  and  Cousin  Sam,  and  never  hev'  I  seen  'em 
grim  and  savage  like  these.  When  we  paired  off,  my  Sarah  wus  as 
likely  a  lass  as  ever  walked,  and  I  don't  see  more  change  than  usual. 
And  though  we've  been  to  Barnum's  biggest  show  on  earth,  he 
didn't  ask  to  have  Minervy  and  Sam  there,  as  he  would  if  they'd 
looked  like  this.  It's  a  shabby  trick,  my  lad,  and  it  makes  it  wuss 
to  call  'em  likenesses.  I  shan't  take  the  pictur'.  But  I'll  pay  you 
for  your  trouble  if  you'll  put  it  in  the  fire." 

Then  Mr.  Shakespeare  kinder  turned  on  his  heel  and  walked  off, 
and  talked  to  some  ladies  comin'  in,  and  the  cappen  pitched  the' 
pictur' into  the  stove  himself,  and  put  a  dollar  on  the  table,  and  we 
walked  out. 

Since  then  I've  seen  more  pictures,  and  I've  kinder  made  up  mv 
mind  it  wusn't  done  a  purpose. 


AND  RECITATIONS. 


51 


A  FASHIONABLE  VACATION. 

/^\FF  the  first  of  next  week  !  My  goodness  !  What  a  lot  of 
things  to  be  done  !  I  think  I  shall  go  crazy.  The  poor 
girls  haven't  a  thing  to  wear,  and  1  am  like  a  beggar.  Twenty- 
eight  new  dresses  last  summer  ?  Yes,  I  know,  dear,  but  that  was 
only  seven  apiece,  and  nothing  but  side-pleating  was  worn  then, 
and  now  everything  is  puffed.  Can't  I  puff  up  the  side-pleatings? 
Oh  !  if  that  isn't  exactly  like  a  man.  But  no  matter,  dear  ;  you 
can't  help  it ;  you  were  born  so.  Puffings  are  bias  and  pleatings 
are  straight. 

Ah  !  if  we  were  only  able  to  go  off  camping  at  four  hours'  notice 
,  as  the  boys  are,  with  a  lot  of  blue  shirts  and  some  celluloid  col- 
lars !  If  the  girls  were  sensible,  we  might  ?  Now  there  is  an- 
other proof  that  girls  need  a  mother.  Poor  things  !  If  I  were  to 
die  I've  no  doubt  you'd  take  them  to  the  country  in  plain  blue 
flannel  dresses  and  fisherman's  hats,  as  Doctor  Duckweed  does  his 
two  poor  orphans. 

And  how  rosy  and  fat  they  are  when  they  come  back  ?  Oh,  yes, 
dear;  rosy  enough,  and  fat  enough.  Miss  Delight,  our  dressmaker, 
tells  me  their  belts  are  twenty-six  inches  !  Now,  Maud  and  Mil- 
dred are  eighteen  inches  and  Eose  is  only  twenty.  I've  seen  to 
their  corsets  since  they  were  ten  years  old.  Let  me  see — lend  me 
your  pencil,  dear.  What  will  you  allow  me  for  dresses  ?  I  know 
you  are  very  generous  to  the  girls,  and  though  of  course  I  don't 
care  myself — very  much  otherwise — I  must  be  elegant  to  chaper- 
one  them. 

Oh!  I'll  show  you  their  shoes,  dear.  I've  got  them  their  shoes 
already.  Well — what  a  face!  Did  you  ever  see  anything  so 
pretty  ?  And  only  number  two  and  a  half  !  They  can't  take  a 
country  walk  in  those  high  heels?  Why,  of  course  not,  you  old- 
fashioned  soul  !  And  come  home  all  tanned  and  blowsy,  and  with 
great,  vulgar  appetites;  and  young  Richards,  and  old  Mr.  Bloom- 
ingburg,  and  all  the  rest  to  be  there  ! 

My  goodness,  dear!   I  believe  you  think  I  take  all  this  trouble 


52 


WERNER'S  READINGS 


every  year,  and  put  you  to  all  this  expense,  just  to  give  the  girls 
fresh  air  and  country  walks.  Why,  we  could  all  go  down  to  poor 
old  Uncle  Peter's  and  board  on  the  fat  of  the  land  for  five  dollars  a 
week  a  piece,  and  any  old  things  would  do;  and  as  for  walks  and  hay 
rides,  and  boating,  there'd  be  no  end.  And  I  should  enjoy  it.  But 
time  is  flying;  our  eldest  girl  is  twenty — though  you  must  not  tell 
anybody — and  we  must  get  them  married  well.  That's  what  going 
to  Saratoga,  and  Newport,  and  all  the  rest  of  it,  means  to  loving 
mothers,  dear. 

What!  You're  shocked  ?  You  think  of  Turkish  slaves  ?  You 
wouldn't  have  your  girls  marry  a  young  rascal  like  Richards  or  a 
dishonest  millionaire  like  Bloomingburg  ?  When  a  good  man  loves 
one  of  them —  Oh,  stop  there,  you  dear,  old-fashioned  thing,  and 
let  a  mother  do  her  best  for  her  darlings.  How  much  will  you 
give  me  this  season  ? 


MRS.  WINKLE  S  GRANDSON. 

n^HIS  is  my  grandson,  Billy,  Mr.  Bernacle.  I'm  sure  after 
A  you've  been  here  a  month  you'll  think  as  much  of  him  as  I 
do.  He's  so  lively  and  agreeable !  The  house  is  never  dull  as  long 
as  he  is  in  it.  You  can  hear  him  from  the  time  he  gets  up  until 
he  goes  to  bed.  There  isn't  a  comic  song  he  don't  know,  nor  a 
byword;  and  he  plays  the  accordeon  foe-utiful— don't  you,  Billy, 
pet  ? 

"  Must  be  a  musical  genius  ?"  Oh,  yes,  sir  ;  but  he's  so  vari- 
ously gifted,  too,  is  Billy.  He's  real  inventive.  As  soon  as  ever  he 
sees  a  watch  he  picks  it  to  pieces  and  makes  a  windmill  of  it.  Of 
course  I  don't  let  him  have  the  boarders'  watches  generally ;  but 
sometimes  he  to  ill  get  'em,  and  some  folks  is  so  tetchy. 

Mr.  Bernacle,  this  is  the  room  ;  nice  and  airy,  ain't  it  ?  Yes, 
the  windows  are  a  little  broken.  "  Every  pane  cracked  ?"  Yes,  so 
I  see.  We'll  have  that  fixed  in  no  time.  Poor  little  Billy  did  that 
with  his  pea-shooter.  It's  a  joy  to  see  him,  he  can  hit  so  straight. 
I  often  sit  and  watch  him. 


AND  RECITATIONS. 


53 


"  Furniture  looks  scratched  ?"  Well,  you  see,  Billy  is  real  talented 
— likes  to  draw  and  paint.  You  ought  to  see  the  pictures  he 
draws  of  the  boarders;  comic  pictures,  with  words  coming  out  of 
their  mouths  on  scrolls.  He  hits  'em  off  so't  I  die  a  laughing  e'en  a'- 
most. 

"  Is  this  Billy's  room  ?"  Oh,  no,  sir.  He  sleeps  nearer  his  own 
grandma  than  that  ;  but  somehow  the  dear  child  has  got  a  key  that 
opens  all  the  doors,  and  I  can't  find  where  he  hides  it.  I'd  think 
it  my  duty  to  take  it  away  if  I  could,  but  after  all,  we  wouldn't 
have  half  the  amusing  surprises  we  do  if  he  hadn't  it.  He  makes 
it  so  gay  and  lively  for  us  with  his  jokes. 

Yes,  the  arm  does  come  off  that  big  chair.  Billy  makes  a  horse 
of  it ;  but  we'll  mend  it.  I  think  you'd  better  have  this  room,  it's 
so  cheerful.  Eh  !  Not  coming  at  all  ?  Well — as  you  please,  of 
course.  Billy,  you  shouldn't  have  done  that,  screwing  the  gentle- 
man's coat-tails  to  the  door-post  while  we  were  talking.  See  what 
a  piece  he  has  torn  out,  turning  suddenly.  Good-by,  sir.  Humph! 
Old  Sobersides!  Nothing  would  make  him  laugh.  We  don't  want 
such  a  boarder,  do  we,  Billy  ? 


THE  .SLOWLYS  AT  THE  THEATRE. 


AACHEN  I  came  to  York  I  hadn't  ever  been  to  a  play.  That  plays 
wus  wicked  I  had  always  heerd,  and  there  wus  an  actor  at 
the  tavern  a  spell  that  drank  like  mad,  besides  bavin'  three  wives, 
all  of  which  came  after  him,  and  made  the  landlady's  heart  ache 
cryin'  in  the  parlor,  and  he  unfeelin'  as  a  frog,  and  ended  by  com- 
mittin'  suicide. 

I  hadn't  ever  been  to  a  play,  and  when  the  cappen  came  home, 
and  says  he : 

"Now, ma  and  Minervy,  put  on  your  new  top-sails,  for  I'm  goin' 
to  steer  you  to  a  theayter  this  evenin'," 

Why,  I  opened  my  eyes  and  lifted  up  my  hands,  and  says  I : 
"  Cappen,  don't  talk  wicked." 
"  What  d'ye  mean,  ma  ?"  says  he. 


54 


WERNERS  READINGS 


"  Why,  pa,"  says  I,  "  plays  are  sinful." 
"  Who  told  you  so  ?"  says  he. 

Says  I,  "  I  dunno  who  told  me.  It's  one  o'  them  facts  folks 
knows  from  the  kind  o'  intooition ;  but  I  suppose  it  won't  hurt  to 
go  and  see  the  play,  and  if  it's  wicked  we'll  never  go  no  more." 

"Agreed,  ma,"  says  he. 

So  Minervy  and  me  went  and  dressed  ourselves  in  our  best,  and 
off  we  went  in  an  omnibus,  and  down  we  wus  sot  at  the  door  of  the 
theayter. 

I  dunno  what  wickedness  players  may  be  up  to,  but  there  wus  a 
young  man  walled  up  alive  sellin'  tickets.  I  looked  and  looked, 
and  there  wusn't  any  door  for  him  to  get  out  at,  only  a  window, 
and  I  suppose  they  put  his  food  in  that  way.  I  asked  the  cappen, 
and  he  says: 

"  Sarah,  accordin'  to  my  reckonin',  they're  afraid  he'd  make  off 
with  all  that  money  if  so  be  he  had  his  liberty,  and  p'raps  it's  in 
the  agreement  that  he  shall  be  walled  up  for  a  certain  space  o'  time. 
Tickets,  if  you  please,  mate." 

"How  many  ?"  says' the  poor  young  man,  quite  brisk  and  cheer- 
ful. 

Says  he,  "For  me  and  these  two  ladies — wife  and  darter." 
"  Eeserved  seats  ?"  says  the  young  man. 

"  We  want  first-cabin  passage,  whatever  it  is,"  says  the  cappen. 

So  he  gave  us  tickets,  and  in  we  went.  It  looked  like  meetin'. 
Everybody  in  there  had  bun  nets,  and  all  sittin'  up  proper  jest  as  if 
they  wus  goin'  to  be  preached  to. 

"  I  don't  believe  it's  a  bit  wicked,  Minervy,"  I  said. 

"La,  don't,  ma,"  says  Minervy.    " Everybody'll  hear  you." 

Well,  a  nice,  slick  young  man  that  they  called  an  usher  pointed 
out  our  seats,  and  pretty  soon  the  music  began.  It  wus  splendid. 
I  never  heerd  such  music,  though  Minervy  and  her  cousin  Sam  does 
play  duets  together  on  the  piannerforty  and  the  fiddle  sometimes. 

There  wus  a  beautiful  pictur'  straight  before  me,  and  I  wus  ad- 
mirin'  it,  when  suddenly  it  rose  up;  and  then  I  began  to  know 
what  the  theayter  wus. 

There  wus  the  nicest  young  gal  you  ever  knew  wus  obliged  to 


AND  RECITATIONS, 


55 


)lay  a  guitar  and  sing  to  get  victuals  to  eat;  and  there  wus  a  young 
nan  that  had  come  from  the  country  somewhere,  and  whether  he 
mew  the  money  wus  counterfeit  or  not,  I  wouldn't  like  to  say,  for 
\  myself  gave  our  grocer  a  bad  half-dollar,  and  never  knew  it  until 
I  wus  given  back.  But  he  passed  it,  anyhow.  But  there  wus  some 
rood  in  him,  for  he  gave  real  money  to  the  poor  gal  with  the  guitar, 
md  it  wus  pretty  to  see  how  obligated  she  wus  to  him. 

But  it  seemed  to  me,  too,  that  that  young  man — Robert  Brierly 
vus  his  name — wus  jest  a  little  the  worse  for  somethin'  he'd  taken. 
He  wus  pretty,  though,  with  his  yellow  hair  and  pink  cheeks,  and 
ivhen  they  came  and  arrested  him  I  jest  riz  up,  and  says  I: 

"Do  let  him  off!  I'm  sure  he  didn't  know  it,  and  if  he  did  he 
livon't  do  it  again." 

Says  the  cappen,  "  Ma,  don't  interfere.  Law  is  law,  and  when 
it's  broke  must  have  its  course.  There'll  be  a  trial,  and  if  he  ain't 
guilty,  why  he'll  clear  himself." 

So  I  jest  sat  down  and  cried,  and  waited  jest  as  anxious  as  if  he 
had  been  a  neighbor. 

Well,  the  curtain  riz  again.  I  don't  know  why  they  didn't  leave 
it  up  to  let  us  see  what  happened.  And  there  wus  the  young  gal. 
She  didn't  play  the  guitar  no  more  for  a  livin',  but  took  in  sewin'. 
I  thought  the  more  of  her  for  takin'  up  some  respectable  trade  as 
soon  as  she  could,  as  I  told  the  lady  next  me;  and  she  paid  her  rent 
regular,  for  so  the  old  lady  down  stairs  said  when  she  come  in  for  it. 
A  nicer  old  lady  I  never  knew,  and  how  I  felt  for  her! 

That  grandchild  of  hers  wus  the  plague  of  her  life,  and  she  sat 
down  and  told  us  all  about  it. 

Says  I,  "  Ma'am,  I  know  your  feelin's  well,  and  there's  Mrs. 
Brown,  down  our  way,  she  suffers  as  you  do  with  hers." 

Says  the  cappen,  "  Beggin' pardon,  ma'am.  But  have  you  rope's- 
ended  him  ?  i  Spare  the  rod  and  spile  the  child  '  is  scriptur'.  If  he 
troubles  you  any  more,  jest  hand  him  over  to  me  and  I'll  fix  him." 

"  Oh,  do  hush,"  says  Minervy. 

"Minervy,"  says  I,  "when  I'm  spoke  to  I  shall  answer,  be  it 
where  it  may." 

Mrs.  Jones  she  lived  in  the  same  house,  too.    She's  lovely,  but 


1 


56  WERNER'S  READINGS 

not,  as  I  should  say,  genteel.  And  as  for  singin'  when  I  had  sucl 
a  cold  and  wus  so  obliged  to  sneeze,  I  wouldn't  do  it.  I  felt  sorn 
for  her,  and  says  I,  "  Don't,  ma'am,  I  beg.  I  know  that  you'll  h 
hoarse  to-night,  for  a  cold  ain't  to  be  trifled  with.  Take  a  cup  o 
yarb  tea  and  soak  your  feet  in  hot  water,  and  don't  put  yoursell 


Brieriy  v,- 
fcns  t( 
01V" 
're  d( 


lai 


Then  everybody  laughed.    Why,  goodness  knows. 

I  felt  so  took  up  with  Mr.  Brieriy  that  I  couldn't  think  of  an} 
one  but  him.  Well,  he  wus  engaged  to  Miss  May,  and  they  didn't 
like  to  toll  it,  so  she  called  him  her  brother.  And  I've  knowE 
plenty  who  thus  spoke  of  their  steady  company  as  cousins,  and  i4- 
wusn't  much  worse. 

And  then  to  see  Mr.  Brieriy  in  the  nice  old  gentleman's  office, 
lookin'  so  spruce  and  bright,  and  behavin'  so  nice,  and  goin'  to  be 
married  to  Miss  May. 

"  Well,"  says  I  to  pa,  "  I  never  felt  more  pleased  about  a  stranger 
in  my  life. " 

Oh  my!  oh  my!  and  jest  then  the  dreadfulest  things  were  comin' 
to  him.  Troubles  never  come  single,  you  know,  and  it  shows  what 
keepin'  bad  company  is.  They  turn  up  jest  when  they're  not 
wanted,  after  you've  tried  to  get  rid  of  'em. 

Mr.  Hawkshaw,  he  wus  a  detective,  and,  I  should  say,  a  nice, 
steady  man,  though  with  a  temper,  and  he  never  told  a  word  about 
what  he  knew  to  the  old  gentleman  that  hired  Bob  Brieriy  in  his 
office;  and  how  could  he,  when  Mr.  Brieriy  stood  askin'  him  not 
to,  with  his  eyes?  I  didn't  durst  speak  to  Mr.  Hawkshaw,  because 
the  old  gentleman  might  have  heerd,  but  I  jest  nodded  and 
winked  at  him,  as  much  as  to  say,  (i  I  saw  what  you  did,  and  I  take 
it  very  kind  of  you." 

And  then  there  came  in  such  a  nice  old  gentleman — oh,  so  re- 
spectable, that  nobody  ever  would  have  thought  he  could  do  any 
wrong.  I'm  sure  I'd  have  trusted  him  with  thousands;  and  if  he 
didn't  try  to  pick  the  safe  open!  And,  bless  you!  Mr.  Brieriy 
caught  him,  and  he  wus  a  dreadful  critter  in  disguise — one  he'd 
knowed  of  old.  And,  out  of  revenge,  the  fellow  that  wanted  to  rob 
the  safe  went  and  got  the  other  old  thief  to  tell  how  that  poor 


dowr 
'And 
so  nil 
Butt! 
worlds, 
earryin' 
that  pu 
him.  i 
anil  lie 
how  pii 
And 
do  but 


about 


Am 
breaki 
poor  \ 


wus; 
An 
and  1; 

Mil,  ! 


AND  RECITATIONS. 


57 


'■Til 

tnd  r 


Brierly  was  a  ticket-of-leave  man.    And  out  it  all  come  on  the  day 
A  tie  wus  to  be  married! 
II I,'    "  Oh/'  says  I,  turnin'  to  him.    "Stop,"  says  I.  "  Reflect  on  what 
0  you're  doin',  and  be  kind  to  that  poor  young  man."    But  he  never 
u]  looked  at  me,  no  more'n  if  I  hadn't  spoken,  not  a  bit  more;  and 
way  they  went.    And  when  the  nice  old  lady,  that  I  told  you  of, 
sat  down,  I  saw  her  feelin's  wus  like  mine. 

And  it's  too  bad,  ma'am,"  says  I.    "Jest  when  he  wus  gettin' 
3n  so  nice." 

But  the  worse  hadn't  come.  I  wouldn't  go  through  it  again  for 
worlds.  That  nice  young  man  came  down  to  diggin'  sewers  and 
arryin'  the  hod.  And  even  then  sot  agin  by  his  bad  companions, 
hat  put  even  those  common  laborers  up  to  turnin'  their  backs  on 
him.  And  he  hadn't  a  decent  suit  of  clothes  to  his  back,  poor  dear, 
and  he  hadn't  had  the  heart  to  comb  his  hair;  and  his  poor  eyelids, 
how  pink  they  were!    Oh,  my!  I  cried  and  cried. 

And  then,  down  in  that  drinkin'-cellar,  what  did  them  wretches 
do  but  get  at  him  and  try  to  make  him  promise  to  help  'em  rob 
his  old  master.    And  he  agreed. 

Oh,  dear!"  says  I.    "Young  man,  don't,  I  beg  and  pray  of 
you,  don't.    You'll  feel  the  worse  for  doin'  wrong." 

But  then,  how  mistook  I  wus;  for  it  wus  only  to  find  out  all 
about  it.    And  when  they  were  gone  down  cellar,  he  wrote  a  note 
tellin'  all  about  it.    And,  says  he: 
"  But  who'll  carry  it?" 

And  says  the  cappen :  "  Heave  it  here.  I  will,  my  lad." 
But  Mr.  Hawkshaw,  he  wus  asleep  on  the  table,  and  he  took  it. 
And  then,  if  there  wusn't  the  office  outside,  and  if  the  house- 
breakers didn't  go  in,  and  if  Robert  didn't  go  in  with  'em,  and  his 
poor  wife  lookin'  over  the  gate,  talkin'  to  that  critter,  that  no  name 
is  bad  enough  for,  and  beggin'  him  to  tell  her  where  her  husband 
wus;  and  all  the  while  he  wus  in  there  with  the  house-breakers. 

And  then  there  came  Mr.  Hawkshaw,  and  choked  the  old  rascal, 
and  laid  down  behind  a  tomb,  and  pounced  on  'em  when  they  come 
out,  and  there  wus  an  awful  fight,  and  the  wretch  shot  poor  Robert. 
Up  jumped  the  cappen. 


jr 


58 


WERNERS  READINGS 


"  I'll  help  ye,  my  lads,"  says  he. 

Says  I, "  Don't  rush  into  danger,  pa.  Remember  me  and  Minervy." 

But  pa  would  have  gone,  only  the  gentleman  playin'  the  violin 
caught  him  by  the  leg. 

Says  he,  "Stop,  sir;  assistance  has  arrived."  And  sure  enough 
it  had,  and  the  rascals  were  treed,  and  Robert  Brierly's  wife  and 
the  old  gentleman  wus  a-liftin'  him  up. 

There  he  sat,  so  white,  all  but  his  poor  pink  eyelids,  and  the 
blood  runnin'  from  the  awful  wound  on  his  forehead.  And  they 
were  a-thankin'  him,  and  says  he,  "  There  may  be  some  good  even 
in  a  ticket-of-leave  man." 

"  Oh,"  says  I,  "  yes,  yes.  You've  proved  it,  and  we  know  you'll 
never  do  wrong  no  more  if  you  live." 

But  down  came  the  curtain,  and  up  riz  the  folks.  Pa  and  me  sat 
still. 

"  Pa,"  says  I, "  I  can't  go  until  I  know  whether  he'll  get  over  it." 
"  Nor  I,"  says  pa. 

So  we  went  up  front,  and  I  caught  hold  of  the  sleeve  of  the  young 
man  that  played  the  violin. 

3ays  I,  "  Mister,  if  you  please,  is  he  better  ?" 

"It  looked  pretty  desperate.  I've  knowed  men  to  die  of  less," 
said  the  cappen.  "  So  don't  laugh,  mate.  It's  Mr.  Brierly  we  ask 
after.  My  compliments,  and  Mrs.  Slowly's,  and  our  darter  Min- 
ervy's,  and  how  does  he  find  himself  ?" 

"  And  if  there's  any  one  needed  to  sit  up,  I'll  come,"  says  I,  "  and 
willin'." 

"  And  providin'  he  recovers,"  says  the  cappen,  "  I've  a  brother 
that  deals  in  ship  stores,  and  he'll  give  him  a  berth,  and  glad  to  have 
him  on  my  advice." 

Well,  the  young  man  did  laugh,  I  know,  but  he  told  us  quite 
polite  that  Mr.  Brierly  was  not  dangerous,  and  that  the  old  gentle- 
man would  employ  him. 

Then  we  went  home;  but  I  wouldn't  go  through  with  it  again  for 
millions,  and  every  night  since  I've  dreamt  of  him,  with  his  poor 
pink  eyelids  and  his  white  cheeks,  and  that  awful  wound  on  his 
head,  and  I'll  never  go  to  a  play  to  suffer  so  again  in  all  my  life  ! 


AND  RECITATIONS. 


59 


MRS.  SLOWLY  AT  THE  HOTEL. 

*\7  0,  never,  never  will  I  live  at  a  hotel  again;  not  unless  I  come 
to  my  dotage.    It's  the  awfulest  thing  I  ever  had  to  do;  and 
it's  a  marsy  that  I  ain't  shot  dead  and  murdered  for  it  this  blessed 
minute. 

The  cappen  had  business  that  kept  him  out  last  night,  and  Min- 
ervy  went  to  bed  airly,  and  arter  she  had  gone  I  felt  an  awful  ache, 
and  felt  sure  I  was  goin'  to  have  the  cholery.  Then  it  come  into  my 
mindhow't  old  Doctor  Puffer  used  to  say,  "  Cholery  and  brandy  don't 
agree  together.  In  times  of  cholery  always  have  your  brandy  bottle 
handy."  And  it  struck  me  that  I'd  go  clown  and  get  a  glass  with 
some  hot  water  before  it  wus  too  late.  So  I  took  a  goblet,  and  went 
out  and  along  all  them  windings  and  meanderin's,  and  staircases  and 
entrys  and  halls,  until  I  come  to  a  waiter. 

Then  I  says  to  him — speakin'  as  polite  as  I  could — for,  black  or 
not, them  that  deserves  it  should  so  be  spoke  to — says  I,  "If  you 
please,  young  man,  couldn't  you  get  me  some  brandy  and  water? 
Not  that  I'm  in  the  habit  of  drinkin',  which  goodness  forbid  in  any 
female,  much  less  me;  but  I  feel  as  if  I  wus  agoin'  to  be  took  with 
cholery,  and  an  ounce  of  prevention  is  better  than  a  pound  of  cure." 

Says  he,  "  I'll  get  it  in  a  minute,  mum." 

And  off  he  went,  and  back  he  come,  flourishin'  his  hand,  and 
bowin'  when  he  gave  it  to  me  as  polite  as  if  he  wus  as  white  as 
chalk. 

So  I  took  the  brandy  and  water,  and  away  I  went  up  to  my  room, 
as  I  thought,  and  I  went  in.  Brussels  carpet  and  white  shades  and 
marble-topped  bureau  and  all.  So  I  sot  down  the  brandy  and 
water,  and  went  to  the  bed  to  get  my  night-cap  from  under  the 
pillow,  when,  goody  gracious  !  what  should  I  se^  there  but  a  man's 
face,  bound  up  and  snorin'  horrid.  There  wus  his  things,  too,  a 
hangin'  on  the  headboard,  and  I  knowed  in  a  minute  I  must  have 
got  into  the  wrong  room  ! 

I  e'en  a'most  screeched,  and  up  I  caught  my  brandy  and  water 
and  out  I  went  and  tried  the  next  door. 


60 


WERNER'S  READINGS 


That  wus  open,  too,  and  now  I  felt  sure  I'd  got  right,  when  a 
woman's  voice  hollers : 
"  Who's  there  ?" 

.  Says  I,  "  It's  only  me."  And  away  I  went  again,  beginnin'  to 
feel  as  skeery  as  if  I  wus  in  a  church-yard. 

There  wus  numbers  on  all  the  horrid  doors,  and  I  remembered 
there  wus  a  three  in  mine.    So  when  I  saw  33  on  one  I  said: 

ff  I'm  arrived  at  last,"  and  in  I  poked. 

There  wus  carpet  and  bureau  and  bed  just  alike.  But  I  hadn't 
more  than  crossed  the  sill  when  somebody  yells,  "Murder! 
thieves!"  And  though  it  was  darkish,  I  saw  a  man  sittin'  up  in 
bed  pointin'  a  pistol  at  me. 

"Oh,  don't  shoot!" says  I.  "It's  only  me."  And  out  I  rushed, 
and  I  heerd  the  critter  get  up  and  bolt  the  door,  and  swear 
horrid. 

I  had  to  take  a  little  sup  of  brandy  to  keep  me  from  droppin' 
after  that,  and  I  says  to  myself : 

"  Is  it  your  fate,  Sarah  Slowly,  to  be  took  for  a  burglar,  and  shot 
dead  arter  all  ?  Is  this  your  end  ?"  And  I  went  on  lookin'  by  the 
gas-light  for  numbers  with  three's  in  'em. 

Every  door  I  shook  or  opened,  and  every  one  wus  wrong;  and  at 
last  I  sat  down  on  the  foot  of  the  stairs,  and  cried  like  the  babes  in 
the  wood,  and  them  poor  little  critters  couldn't  have  felt  worse  than 
I  did.  I  knew  I  wus  on  our  floor,  because  there  wus  a  big  scratch 
on  the  banisters  that  Sam  made  goin1  down  one  day  with  his  um- 
brella that  happened  to  be  broke,  and  that  he  very  nearly  put  into 
my  eye. 

So  it  seemed  to  me  as  if  I  would  be  bewitched,  and  there  I  sot 
and  cried  until  a  man  in  a  white  coat  came  along,  and  says  he : 
"  May  I  ask  what  is  the  matter,  ma'am  ?" 

Says  I,  "  You  may,  for  it's  time  somebody  asked.  I'm  Mrs. 
Slowly,  from  the  country,  an  old  lady  as  you  see,  and  not  used  to 
city  ways,  and  I've  been  down  to  get  some  brandy  and  water;  not 
that  I'm  fond  of  it,  but  that  I  felt  sure  that  I  wus  gettin'  the  chol- 
ery;  and  I've  lost  my  way,  and  here  I  be.  And  here  I  may  perish 
before  mornin',  for  find  my  way  I  can't." 


AND  RECITATIONS. 


61 


"But,  dear  me,  why  didn't  you  ring  for  the  waiter,  ma'am  ?"  says 
the  man. 

Says  I,  "  I'm  a  plain  body,  and  never  wus  brought  up  to  take  airs 
and  ring  servants  about,  but  now  I  wish  I  had,  I  do  declare,  for  I 
am  lost  as  much  as  if  I  wus  in  the  woods.  All  I  know  is,  my  room 
has  a  three  in  the  number  on  the  door." 

He  laughed. 

"We'll  find  your  room,  ma'am,"  says  he.  "Come  on,  if  you 
please.    Now  is  this  it — twenty- three  ?" 

"  No,"  says  I.  "  There  I  remember  I  made  the  first  mistake  and 
went  in,  where  there  is  a  person,  not  to  say  a  man,  a-bed,  and  snorin' 
sound." 

"  Ah,"  says  he.    "  Now  thirty-three  ?" 

But  I  knew  it  warn't.    However,  he  knocked. 

Somebody  came  to  the  door. 

"  We  are  lookin'  for  this  lady's  room,"  says  he.    "  Mrs.  ?" 

"  Mrs.  Cappen  Slowly,"  says  I. 
"  This  is  mine,"  says  a  voice. 
So  we  went  on  to  the  next  door. 

"  Somebody  is  tryin*  to  break  ,in,  John,"  says  a  woman. 

"  I've  got  a  loaded  pistol  under  my  pillow,"  says  what  I  did  sup- 
pose to  be  her  husband.    "  So  whoever  is  there  beware." 

"What  a  coward!"  says  the  kind  gentleman,  knockin'  at  the 
next.  But  it  wus  the  same  old  story — they  hollered  and  screeched 
and  swore,  and  none  of  the  rooms  wus  mine. 

"  I'll  call  a  waiter,  ma'am,"  says  the  gentleman. 

So  up  came  one  arter  he  had  rung,  and  looks  at  me  standin'  with 
my  tumbler  of  brandy  and  water,  and  grins. 

"Can't  find  your  room,  ma'am?"  says  he.  "Why  it's  twenty- 
three." 

"My!"  says  I.  "In  there  I  have  been,  and  found  a  person 
snorin'." 

"  I'm  certain  sure,  ma'am,"  says  he. 
"  No,"  says  I.    ?<  It  isn't  that." 

"Then  you've  mistook  the  floor,"  says  the  gentleman. 

And  perhaps  I  had,  so  oh*  we  went  and  all  over  the  house  again, 


62 


WERNER'S  READINGS 


everybody  swearin'  and  screaming  and  offerin'  to  shoot,  and  still  no 
room  for  me. 

The  waiter  and  the  gentleman  looked  at  each  other,  and  the  gen- 
tleman says : 

' 'You  must  try  twenty-three,  ma'am." 

Says  I,  "  I  did.  But  if  you  don't  believe  me,  there's  a  man  in 
there  a-bed  snorin'." 

So  the  gentleman  pulled  open  the  door,  and  the  snores  came  out 
like  a  patent  coffee-mill  a-grindin'. 

"  You  are  right,  ma'am,"  says  the  gentleman.  "  Waiter,  go  and 
find  out  directly  what  this  lady's  number  really  is." 

So  away  he  went,  and  back  he  comes. 

"  Cappen  and  Mrs.  Slowly's  room  is  number  twenty-three,"  says 
he. 

"  Then,"  says  the  gentleman,  "  some  stranger  has  gone  in  by  ac- 
cident or  design.    We  must  have  him  out." 

"  Oh,  if  he  is  a  robber  and  a  desperado  he  may  shoot  you  "both," 
says  I. 

"  So  he  may.    Better  call  the  landlord,"  says  the  waiter. 

And  off  he  went,  and  back  he-  'es*ae  with  the  landlord  and  an- 
other gentleman,  and  we  told  'em  what  it  wus. 

"Some  gentleman  who  has  been  drinkin'  more  than  wus  good 
for  him  I  suppose,"  says  the  landlord,  and  in  he  walked. 

"  Come,"  says  he,  "you've  made  a  mistake,  sir.  This  is  a  lady's 
room." 

The  man  only  snored.  Then  he  shook  him.  All  of  a  sudden  out 
he  bounded  and  made  at  us.  I  ran  and  screamed.  So  did  the 
rest.    Then  the  man  held  the  door  ajar  and  peeped  out. 

"  What  ails  ye  all,  you  lubbers  ?"  he  hollers.  "  Is  the  house 
a-fire,  or  what  do  you  rouse  a  man  out  of  his  berth  for  in  the  mid- 
dle watch  ?" 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  says  the  landlord;  "there's  a  little  mistake. 
This  is  Cappen  Slowly's  room." 

"  I  know  it,"  says  the  man,  "  and  that's  why  Cappen  Slowly  is 
here." 

u  La  !"  says  I,  "if  it  ain't  the  cappen  come  home  unbeknownt 


AND  RECITATIONS. 


63 


to  me.  And  it  was  him  in  bed  all  the  while  and  not  a  stranger/* 
And  so  it  wus,  and  twenty-three  wus  my  room,  after  all. 

The  landlord  and  the  gentleman  and  the  waiter  wus  all  po- 
lite, but  they  laughed,  notwithstanding.  And  Tin  ashamed  to  show 
my  face,  for  the  cappen  says  they'll  lay  it  all  to  the  brandy  and 
water,  of  which  I  only  took  one  swallow,,  and  spilt  the  rest,  or  my 
name  ain't  Sarah  Ann  Slowly. 


THE  TRAGEDY  AT  DODD'S  PLACE. 

T_TE  came  into  the  store  with  a  face  full  of  misery,  and  sat  down 
upon  a  box  "beside  the  stove  and  began  to  cry.  It  was  a  queer 
thing  for  a  man  like  that  to  do — a  great,  rough  laborer  fifty  years 
of  age.  Some  dreadful  trouble  must  have  come  upon  him  to  make 
him  show  his  sorrow  in  that  way.  The  strangers  stared  sympa- 
thetically.   After  awhile  the  proprietor  of  the  store  said  : 

"  Well,  neighbor,  you  seem  to  be  in  trouble  ;  can  we  help  you 
any?" 

The  man  did  not  look  up  ;  he  shook  his  head  and  said  : 
"  No,  no,  no.    It's  very  kind  of  you,  but  nobody  can  help  me. 
I  suppose  you  think  I'm  an  old  fool  ;  but  she  was  all  the  family  I 
had,  and  she's  dead  ;  "  and  a  great  tear  splashed  down  upon  the 
floor. 

"  She's  dead.  You  can't  do  me  any  good  now  ;  but  if  you'd 
come  around  to  my  little  shanty  there  about  nine  o'clock  last  night 
you  might  have  done  some  good,  I  dunno.  When  a  man  is  deter- 
mined to  make  a  brute  of  himself  he'll  do  it,  perhaps  ;  but  if 
there'd  been  some  one  there  to  say,  i  Dodd,  what  on  airth  are  you 
about?'  why,  mebbe — I  dunno,  though,  I  was  mad.  When  a  man's 
mad  and  has  had  a  glass  too  much,  what's  the  use  of  talking  to 
him?  It's  fixed  things  for  me.  Anyway — Lord  forgive  me  !  she's 
dead." 

The  tears  splashed  down  again  ;  but  the  people  looked  at  him 
with  faces  that  had  lost  a  little  sympathy. 

"You  didn't,  didn't  do  anything  to  bring  it  on,  whatever  it  was?" 


64 


WERNER'S  READINGS 


said  an  old  lady  with  a  large  basket  on  her  arm.  "  I  shouldn't 
have  thought  it  of  you." 

"  Yes,  I  did,  I  did,"  sobbed  the  man.  "  If  it  hadn't  been  for 
me  it  never  would  have  happened.  I  loved  her  too.  Yes,  I  did 
love  her.  Nobody  could  say  she'd  ever  had  a  hard  word  from  me 
before  in  all  the  days  we'd  lived  together  ;  but  last  night  I'd  had  a 
glass  too  much,  and  I  stopped  at  the  butcher's  down  in  the  village 
and  bought  a  bit  of  steak — a  man  wants  a  change  from  pork  once 
in  a  way — and  she  was  fond  of  steak,  she  was  ;  and  I  jest  fetched 
it  in  and  said  to  her  :  '  We'll  have  a  supper  to-night,  eh  ? '  and  she 
sort  of  nodded  and  winked  at  me,  jest  as  jolly,  and  then  I  went 
out  to  the  well  to  draw  water,  and,  as  a  body  does  sometimes  when 
a  body  is  in  a  hurry,  I  lost  the  bucket  off,  and  I  was  a  terrible  time 
finding  it,  and  when  I  went  in — well,  you  see,  I  went  in  with,  an 
appetite — and  there  she  sat,  and — well,  I  ain't  dainty,  but  I  couldn't 
have  touched  that  steak  to  save  me.  I  got  madder  than  I  ever 
was  before,  and  I  jest  around  and  gave  her  a  kick.  Yes,  I,  did.  If 
I  was  to  be  hung  for  it  to-morrow  I'd  have  to  own  up.   I  kicked  her." 

"You  brute  !"  said  the  woman  with  the  basket  ;  "  kicked  her 
because  your  steak  didn't  suit  you  !    Well  may  you  cry." 

",  Yes'm,"  said  the  man.  "  You  can't  speak  harder  to  me  than  I 
ieel  to  myself.  '  I  kicked  her  in  the  side,  and  what  is  more,  I 
opened  the  door  and  I  kicked  her  out  of  it,  and  then  I  jest  sat  down 
alongside  my  fire  and  talked  the  worst  kind  to  myself— I  did  in- 
deed; and  I  said  I'd  never  let  her  in  again.  Yes'm,  you  can  look 
as  you  like  at  me  ;  I  deserve  it  ;  and  then  I  went  to  bed." 

"  Went  to  bed  and  left  her  out  in  the  cold  ?  "  said  the  old  lady. 
"  Never  seeing  whether  she  was  dead  or  not  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  did,  and  more  than  that,  I  went  to  sleep.  I  slept  sound, 
too  ;  and  what  do  you  suppose  waked  me  ?  Why,  her  voice — I 
knew  it  from  a  thousand.  It  was  the  awfulest  shriek,  and  then 
another,  and  then  another,  and  it  came  all  over  me  what  I'd  done. 
I'd  turned  her  that  had  slept  alongside  of  me  winter  nights  more 
years  than  I  could  remember,  out  into  the  cold  night.  I'd  kicked 
her  out.  Oh,  I  was  sober  then,  I  tell  you.  I  saw  what  a  brute  I 
was,  to  do  a  thing  like  that,  all  for  a  bit  of  paltry  steak,  and  I  got 


AND  RECITATIONS. 


05 


up  and  I  went  to  the  door  and  I  called,  but  she  didn't  come.  I 
called  again,  and  then  I  heard  her  scream,  bnt  lainter  and  farther 
off  ;  and  then  I  felt  a  kind  of  horror  coming  over  me,  and  I  dressed 
myself  and  took  my  lantern  and  went  out.  I  walked  this  way  and 
that.  I  looked  and  I  called.  I  swung  the  lantern  low  and  I  held 
it  high.  There  wasn't  a  sign  of  her  ;  and  at  last  I  got  down  to 
Bolter's  pond,  there  by  the  edge  of  the  woods,  you  know,  and  I 
heard  a  kind  of  growling  ;  and  past  me,  all  in  a  hurry,  as  they  go 
when  they've  been  doing  mischief,  flew  those  dogs  of  Bolter's — 
fierce  devils  !  but  they  knew  enough  to  be  afraid  of  me  then. 

"  And  when  I  saw  them  my  heart  stood,  still,  and  I  swung  the 
lantern  low  again,  and  I  saw  her.  She  lay  alongside  the  pond,  and 
her  gray  hair  was  dabbled  in  blood,  and  the  marks  of  the  dogs' 
teeth  were  on  her  neck  ;  and  I  jest  took  her  up  in  my  arms  and 
carried  her  along  the  road  home  and  brought  her  to  the  fire,  and 
there  I  cried  over  her  and  called  her  all  the  pet  names  I  used  to 
call  her  when  I  first  had  her  a  little  young  thing  ;  but  it  wasn't 
any  use — she  was  jest  stilf  and  cold,  and  I  laid  her  down  on  the 
bed,  and  there  she's  laid  ever  since.    Oh,  it's  dreadful  !" 

"  Yes,  and  you  deserve  to  be  hung,"  said  the  old  lady;  "but 
now  suppose  she  isn't  dead,  and  maybe  she  isn't.  Let  us  go  over 
with  you,  and  stop  and  fetch  the  doctor.  Folks  have  been  brought 
to  that  seemed  dead." 

"  Well,  I'll  do  it,"  said  the  man  ;  "  but  it's  no  use,  I  know." 

Then  the  proprietor  of  the  store  called  his  wife  to  wait  on  it, 
and  he  headed  a  procession  of  his  customers,  and  they  all  went  to 
Dodd's  cabin,  calling  on  the  doctor  as  they  passed  his  house,  and 
taking  him  with  them.  When  they  came  to  the  house  no  one  cared 
to  be  the  first  to  go  in  ;  but  at  last  the  doctor,  as  being  best  used 
to  such  things,  opened  the  door.  It  was  a  mean  little  room,  fur- 
nished only  with  a  table,  two  chairs,  some  shelves  and  a  bed,  and 
on  this  bed  sat  an  old  gray  cat  washing  her  face. 

As  soon  as  Dodd's  eyes  rested  on  this  animal  he  uttered  a  cry  of 
joy  and  flew  to  her  side  ;  but  she  at  once  set  up  her  back  and 
uttered  a  loud  miaoui,  while  her  tail  swelled  to  immense  propor- 
tions. 


66 


WERNERS  READINGS 


"  Oh,  I  don't  mind,  I  don't  mind/'  said  Dodd.  "  I  deserve  you 
should  be  mad  at  me  ;  anything,  anything,  so  as  you're  alive. 
She's  come  to  life  again.    Glory,  glory,  glory  !" 

"  Why,  you  don't  mean  to  say  yon  were  talking  about  a  cat  all 
the  while?"  screamed  the  woman  with  the  basket.  "  You  said  she 
didn't  cook  your  meat  properly,  and — " 

"  No'm,"  said  Dodd.  "  I  meant  to  say  she  ate  most  of  it  up  for 
me,  and  tore  and  chawed  what  she  didn't  eat  ;  but  she's  welcome. 
So  that  she's  alive,  I  don't  care.  Oh,  make  up,  Pussy ;  your  own 
old  Dodd  will  never  do  it  any  more." 


MRS.  SMITH  IMPROVES  HER  MIND. 


T  TRIED  to  improve  my  mind  one  afternoon.  I  resolved  I'd  have 
opinions  on  all  subjects;  so,  as  washing,  ironing,  and  baking 
were  done  for  the  week,  and  the  children  out  for  a  walk  with  the 
nurse-girl,  I  took  "Squashem  on  the  Human  Mind"  from  a  shelf, 
and  sat  down  in  the  corner.  I  chose  him  rather  than  "  Snooks  on 
Evolution "  because  he  wasn't  so  thick;  but  the  words  were  very 
long,  and  I'd  never  heard  most  of  them  before,  and  he  wrote  as  if 
I'd  contradicted  him  and  he  wouldn't  put  up  with  it;  but  I  perse- 
vered. I  read  one  paragraph  over  three  times.  It  must  have  been 
about  something,  but  I  couldn't  tell  what.  It  seemed  as  if  the  man 
was  doing  his  best  to  bother  people;  but  I  read  the  paragraph  over 
again,  and  then  I  felt  that  if  I  read  a  little  more  I  might  get  some 
notion  about  it,  and  that  perhaps  it  meant — I  don't  know  what. 
It  sounded  very  improving.  If  I  couldn't  understand  it,  perhaps  I 
could  learn  it  off  and  say  it  when  people  were  quoting  out  of  other 
reason  books.  One  doesn't  like  to  seem  stupid.  I  studied  five  min- 
utes, then  up  came  Anna  Maria,  the  cook  : 

"  Please'm,"  she  said,  "  there's  a  gentleman  at  the  door  selling 
soap,and  I  think  you  ought  to  buy  some, 'cause  he  hasn't  got  no  legs." 

The  plea  was  unanswerable.  I  bought  the  soap,  and  having  re- 
covered from  the  qualms  excited  by  the  spectacle  of  the  soap  mer- 
chant, took  up  my  book  again.    I  read  a  little  more,  and  was  obliged 


AND  RECITATIONS. 


67 


to  put  cologne  on  my  handkerchief.  I  felt  like  one  going  mad. 
Did  he  mean  anything,  or  was  I  [a  fool  ?  However,  I  went  back  to 
my  first  principles  and  studied  by  rote,  rocking  backward  and  for- 
ward, and  beating  my  breast,  as  I  used  to  do  at  school ;  but  this 
time  it  was  Martha  who  came  up  stairs  to  tell  me  that  the  coal 
would  be  out  to-morrow,  and  the  stationary  tubs  were  leaking,  and 
that  the  range  wanted  new  bars,  and  she'd  like  to  have  an  afternoon 
out  if  I  could  spare  her. 

I  spared  her.  Then  I  went  at  my  book  again.  Lights  flashed 
before  my  eyes.  I  came  to  words  I  didn't  understand,  and  looked 
for  them  in  the  dictionary,  and  they  were  not  there.  I  wondered 
whether,  if  the  man  really  were  trying  to  teach  people  to  reason, 
he  could  not  make  the  thought  plainer  to  them,  and  whether  he 
wasn't  only  showing  off.  Sometimes  I  thought  he  might  not  know 
what  he  meant  himself.  But  I  studied  away,  and  at  intervals  cook 
came  to  tell  me  it  was  like  Martha's  impudence  to  go  out  and  leave 
her,  and  an  agent  came  to  get  me  to  subscribe  to  a  new  biography 
of  somebody,  and  an  unknown  man  called  who  said  he  remembered 
me  in  my  infancy,  and  wanted  fifty  cents  to  go  to  his  home  with, 
and  Miss  Samanthy  Tuttle  came  to  spend  the  afternoon,  and  I  put 
the  reason  book  away.  But  at  breakfast  time  next  morning  I  re- 
membered what  I  had  learnt,  and  I  felt  that  I'd  like  to  show  Mr. 
Smith  that  I  had  as  much  mind  as  that  Miss  Splash  he  talks  so 
much  about;  so  I  just  said: 

"Mr.  Smith,  it  is  not  the  embodiment  of  the  aggregation  that 
most  affects  the  conglomerate  exhumation  of  thought  in  entity  so 
much  as  the  carbonation  of  sudorific  petrefaction  through  which  the 
molecules  of  prescience  fail  to  precipitate  themselves  even  amidst 
the  sporadic  growth  of  entirety." 

I'm  sure  I  got  it  right;  but  Mr.  Smith  jumped  up,  rushed  across 
the  room,  cried  out:  "Augusta,  my  dear,  do  you  know  me?"  and 
sent  for  the  family  doctor. 

Then  I  had  to  explain.  Since  then  I've  left  off  trying  to  improve 
my  mind — in  that  way.  With  so  many  interruptions  as  I  have, 
books  that  are  Chinese  puzzles  for  the  mind  had  better  be  let  alone. 
Only,  I  don't  think  it's  right  to  write  'em;  do  you  ? 


08 


WERNERS  READINGS 


PAYING  HER  FARE. 

T~\ RIVER  peeping  through  his  little  window  and  addressing  a 
stout  lady  passenger :    "Fare,  ma'am." 
Stout  Lady — "  I've  paid." 
Driver — "  You  haven't." 
Stout  Lady — "  You  tell  a  story.    I  have." 
Driver — "You  haven't." 

The  horses  becoming  restive,  the  driver  turns  his  attention  to 
them;  flicks  half-a-dozen  boys  off  the  platform  with  his  whip,  stops 
for  a  furious  passenger  who  has  been  chasing  the  car  for  a  block, 
and  returns  to  the  charge. 

"I  want  your  fare,  ma'am." 

New  Passenger — "Mine?  Why  you  ought  to  be  ashamed  of 
yourself!    I  have  paid." 

Driver — "I  know  you  have.    That  other  old  lady's." 
New  Passenger — "  Old  lady — well !" 

Driver — "  The  old  lady  with  the  big  shawl.  You  know  (looking 
at  the  stout  lady)  who  I  mean  well  enough.    Pay  your  fare,  ma'am." 

Stout  Lady — "I  tell  you  I  have.  This  here  lady  saw  me  pay  it" 
— pointing  to  a  timid  young  person  in  the  corner. 

Timid  Young  Person — "Yes,  Mr.  Driver,  if  you  please,  I  think 
I  saw  this  lady  go  up  to  the  box — if  it  wasn't  some  other  lady,  and 
I'm  not  mistaken." 

Stout  Lady — "No,  it  was  me.    There  now." 

Driver — "  There  wasn't  a  cent  in  the  box.  I'd  jest  shook  it 
down.  I'm  not  going  to  pay  your  fares  out  of  my  jacket.  Here, 
pay  up." 

Stout  Lady  (appealing  to  passengers  generally) — "It  a'n't  the 
vally  of  the  money;  it  a'n't  the  worth  of  five  cents;  it's  the 
frinciidle.    I  a'n't  goin'  to  pay  twice." 

Chorus  of  Passengers — "No,  don't  you  do  it.  It's  a  matter  of 
principle." 

Polite  French  Gentleman  in  the  corner — "Till1  madame 
permit  me  ?" 


RECITATIONS.  69 
Stout  Lady—  "  JVo,  I  won't." 

French  gentleman  spreads  his  hands  and  shrugs  his  shoulders. 
The  driver,  after  performing  his  multitudinous  duties  for  a  while, 
becoming  entangled  with  a  cross-car,  and  holding  single  combat 
with  an  intoxicated  man  who  desires  to  enter  the  conveyance,  ap- 
pears again  at  his  little  window  and  says: 

"  Look  here,  ma'am,  I've  seen  this  dodge  before.  Pretty  soon 
you'll  be  getting  down.  You're  keeping  it  up.  to  beat  me  out  o'  a 
ride.  Now  put  your  fare  in  that  box,  or  I'll  stop  the  car  and  set 
you  off." 

French  Gentleman  (to  driver) — "If  I  might  be  allow,  I  shall 
say  von  vord." 

Driver — "You  open  your  mouth  if  you  dare.    Pay  up,  ma'am." 
Stout  Lady — "  I've  paid  once,  and  all  the  wild  animals  in  the 
menagerie  couldn't  tear  it  out  of  me  again,  nor  get  me  off  this  car." 
Passengers  greatly  affected. 

Spokesman — "  Ah,  ma'am,  if  all  had  your  spirit  things  would  be 
different  very  soon." 

Stout  Lady — "It's  a  plan  and  a  plot,  as  well  I  know,  to  take  in 
double  fares  from  us  poor  critters.  I  hev  heerd  that  the  drivers  that 
brings  in  double  fares  gets  a  present." 

Spokesman — "  To  be  sure  ;  that  explains  it  all.  I've  got  the  clew 
now." 

Serious  Passenger — "We'll  uphold  you  in  your  righteous 
course,  ma'am." 

French  Gentleman — "  Zere  is  von  leetle  explaynayceong." 

No  one  takes  any  notice  of  him.  Car  stops.  Enter  driver.  Old 
lady  turns  pale.    Passengers  double  up  their  fists. 

Driver — "Now  pay  up." 

Stout  Lady — "  I  have." 

French  Gentleman  (starting  to  his  feet) — "  Ah,  zis  rendairs  it 
to  becom  necessaire.    Zere  is  von  grand  mistake." 
Driver — "  You'll  find  it  one  if  you  interfere." 
French  Gentleman  (wildly) — "But,  madame!  Behold!  'Viz 
i  your  admirable  goodsens  you  vill  comprehend." 
Stout  Lady — "I  don't  understand  Dutch." 


70  WERNERS  READINGS 

French  Gentleman — "But  behold  in  ze  graceful  elevacions  of 
ze  robe  of  madame*  ze  five  sens." 

All  follow  the  direction  of  his  finger.  The  fare  under  discussion 
is  seen  lying  in  a  fold  of  the  stout  lady's  overskirt." 

Stout  Lady — "La!  I  must  have  dropped  it  there  when  I  went 
to  put  it  in  the  box." 

Driver — "  Passle  of  fools!" 

Passengers  (to  French  gentleman) — "  Why  couldn't  you  speak 
before  giving  this  lady  all  this  trouble  ?" 


SCENE  IN  A  STREET  CAR. 


T  ATE  afternoon.  Oar  full  of  business  men  going  home.  Enter 
lady  with  numerous  parcels  bearing  the  stamp  of  prominent 
dry-goods  establishments.  Polite  gentleman  rises  and  waves  his 
hand  toward  his  vacated  seat.  Enter  second  lady  with  more  shop- 
ping parcels. 

First  lady — "Why,  Mrs.  Clump,  is  that  you?  Sit  right  down." 
Mrs.  Clump — "Oh,  Mrs.  Bump!    To  think  of  meeting  you. 
You  sit  down." 
Tumbles  into  old  gentleman's  arms. 

Mrs.  Bump — "  I  couldn't  think  of  it.    You  take  the  seat." 

Mrs.  Clump  seats  herself  and  says: 

"Thank  you,  Mrs.  Bump." 

Second  gentleman  rises.    Mrs.  Bump  says: 

"Oh,  thank  you!"  treads  on  polite  gentleman's  corns,  knocks 
oft'  another  gentleman's  hat,  and  seats  herself. 

A  lady  passenger  rises  to  leave  the  car.  Mrs.  Clump  exclaims: 
" Thank  goodness,  a  place  for  my  bundles!"  and  deposits  them 
on  the  seat.  A  lady  on  the  other  side  rises.  Mrs.  Bump  cries, 
"How  lucky!  a  place  for  mine,  too!"  and  arranges  her  bundles, 
While  a  gouty  old  gentleman  glares  at  the  parcels,  and  a  lame 
young  man  clings  to  the  strap  and  sighs. 


AND  RECITA1U0NS. 

■ 


71 


REBECCA'S  REVENGE. 

C AMANTHY  PRICE  and  Rebecca  Jane  Judd  was  real  close  and 
^  pertickeler  friends  fur  a  considerabul  length  o'  time,  and  I 
suppose  they  kinder  expected  they  allers  would  be;  but  nobody 
kin  foretell  events  with  any  certainty,  even  if  you  pay  'em  twenty- 
five  cents  fur  doin'  on't,  as  I  was  fool  enough  to  do  once,  and  heerd 
I  was  to  hev  two  husbands  and  ride  in  my  coach ;  and  the  first 
hasn't  come  yet,  though  there's  no  tellin'  what  might  happen;  fur 
there  was  Peggy  Barker,  got  to  be  thirty  without  thinkin'  of  hevin' 
nobody,  and  then  had  three.  But  Samanthy  and  Rebecca  was  what 
I  was  a-talkin'  of.  They  was  real  friends  until  Peleg  Worthington 
came  along  and  kinder  courted  'em  alternate.  Fur  a  while  he  ran 
arter  Rebecca,  and  fur  a  while  be  ran  arter  Samanthy,  and  then  he 
sot  down  and  kept  steady  company  with  Rebecca,  and  then  he 
broke  flat  off  and  kept  steady  company  with  Samanthy. 

That  ended  it.  The  two  hadn't  treated  each  other  well,  but,  as 
Rebecca  said,  after  Peleg  had  been  her  company,  no  friend  would 
have  encouraged  him. 

This  time  the  affair  was  settled,  and  the  two  used  to  go  walkin' 
with  their  arms  about  each  other's  waists,  right  past  Rebecca's 
window,  and  she  got  aggravated.    It  was  nat'ral  she  should. 

She  said  everythin'  she  could  lay  her  tongue  to  against  Saman- 
thy, but  Samanthy  could  do  the  same  by  her;  and  then  she  told 
everybody  all  about  Peleg,  and  she  thought  and  thought  what  she 
could  do  to  spite  'em,  and  she  couldn't  think  of  anything,  until  one 
night  she  remembered  that  Samanthy  was  awfully  afraid  of  ghosts, 
and  made  up  her  mind  to  hide  in  the  lane,  outside  the  back  gar- 
den; and  when  Peleg  had  gone  off,  pop  up  and  scare  Samanthy. 
Perhaps  she  wanted  to  frighten  her  to  death.  Jealousy  is  an  awful 
thing,  I'm  told.  Not  that  I've  ever  experienced  anythin'  of  that 
natur'. 

Anyway  Rebecca  wanted  to  frighten  Samanthy  as  much  as  she 
could,  and  she  took  one  of  her  ma's  best  sheets  and  made  it  into 
most  an  awful-looking  wrap,  and  sewed  black  calico  on  fur  eyes, 


72 


WERNER'S  READINGS 


nose,  and  month,  and  cut  a  couple  of  holes  to  look  through,  and 
waited  until  night.  At  half-past  nine  she  went  out  o'  the  house 
with  her  bundle,  and  hid  in  the  bushes.  But  she  waited  quite  a 
spell,  and  when  they  did  come  out  they  aggravated  her  more  by 
walkin'  up  and  down  kissin.' 

She'd  got  on  her  fixin's  by  this  time,  and  she  was  most  an  awful 
object,  and  she  was  gettin'  pretty  stiff  squattin'  there  in  the  damp. 
When  Peleg  did  go  away  at  last  she  was  rather  anxious  to  get 
through  hauntin'  Samanthy;  and  she  popped  up  all  of  a  sudden 
and  tumbled  down  again.  However,  Samanthy  hadn't  seen  her. 
She  stood  still,  lookin'  sentimental  arter  Peleg;  and  Rebecca,  hevin' 
got  her  feet  out  of  tangle,  stalked  round  awful  solemn,  and  stood 
starin'  at  Samanthy  and  pintin'  at  her  in  an  awful  manner. 

Now  Samanthy  was  afraid  of  ghosts,  and  ef  this  had  been  quite 
unexpected  she'd  hev  flopped  down  on  the  ground  half  dead,  and 
mebbe  really  expired  on't;  but  jest  a  minute  before,  she'd  looked 
around,  and  she'd  seen  Eebecca  scramblin'  up.  She  knew  Rebecca's 
stockin's  and  shoes  as  well  as  she  did  her  own ;  so  she  guessed  in  a 
minute  what  it  meant,  and  'stead  o'  faintin'  or  havin'  a  fit  she  called 
out: 

"Peleg  Worthington!  Peleg  Worthington!  Here's  somebody  up 
to  mischief."    And  back  flew  Peleg. 

Now  Rebecca  was  scared  'stead  of  Samanthy.  Off  she  started 
across  a  lield,  and  after  her  came  Peleg.  He  thought  it  was  some 
boy,  and  Samanthy  stood  laughin'  to  see  the  ghost  pick  up  its 
skirts  and  run. 

Rebecca  was  a  good  runner,  and  she  hoped  to  get  out  of  sight 
long  enough  to  hide  somewhere;  but  she'd  forgot  where  she  was, 
and  all  of  a  sudden  somethin'  happened,  she  didn't  know  what  at 
first.  Down  she  went  into  what  seemed  to  her  the  bowels  of  the 
airth.  'T  wasn't,  though.  She'd  forgot  that  there  was  a  tan  yard 
not  far  off,  and  that  one  of  the  vats  was  here.  That  was  what  she 
fell  into,  and  she'd  e'en  a'most  rather  hev  stayed  there  than  to 
hev  Peleof  fetch  a  ladder  and  fish  her  out,  as  he  did.  He  was  very 
polite.  Said  ef  he'd  knowed  'twas  only  a  little  bit  of  fun  he 
wouldn't  hev  run  so  hard,  and  hadn't  no  idee  'twas  a  lady.  But 


AND  RECITATIONS. 


73 


Samanthy  took  the  ghost  dress  off  and  kept  it.  She  wiped  poor 
Rebecca  dry,  and  lent  her  an  old  gown  to  go  home  in.  But  she 
kept  that  ghost  rig,  and  hung  it  out  on  the  lines  "  to  dry,"  she  said, 
fur  several  days.  It  was  awfully  stained,  but  there  was  one  white 
place  left,  and  on  that  was  marked  "  R.  J.  Judd,"  as  plain  as 
print.    Rebecca  had  left  the  marked  corner  of  the  sheet  in. 

As  for  poor  Rebecca,  she  was  awfully  stained,  a  kinder  red-brown 
color  in  spots,  and  she  didn't  come  to  her  right  complexion  fur 
three  weeks,  so  they  said;  anyway  she  didn't  show  herself  fur  that 
time.  Seems  to  me  she  met  with  a  kind  of  a  jedgment;  though 
you  couldn't  blame  her  fur  get  tin*  riled,  could  you?  And  now,  Mrs. 
Brown,  will  you  hev  your  little  boy's  pants  long  or  knicker- 
bockers? 


HER  FIRST  STEAM-ENGINE. 


T  "WAS  a-walking  along,  comfortable  and  quiet,  with  a  jar  of  jelly 
for  poor  sick  Mrs.  Spruce,  and  I  was  feeling  real  good,  too, 
for  the  hay  was  in  and  butter  had  sold  well;  and  I'd  picked  a  big 
bunch  of  pennyroyal,  and  was  wondering  whether  the  long-iron  rods 
I  saw  were  the  railroad  the  men-folks  talked  so  much  about — for  I 
hadn't  been  over  that  way  since  they  fixed  it — when,  all  of  a  sud- 
den I  heard  a  shriek,  and  then  another,  and  I  looked  up,  and  there 
I  saw  skirring  along  full  split  toward  me  the  most  awful  thing/ 
It  was  as  big  as  ten  elephants,  and  had  a  great  pair  of  fiery  eyes, 
and  a  long  tongue,  and  it  was  as  black  as  ink.  And  while  I  was  a 
wondering  what  it  could  be,  it  snorted  fire  at  me,  and  shrieked 
again. 

1  And  then  I  felt  to  know  'twas  Satan  come  after  me  for  my  sins. 
And  I  shrieked,  too,  and  I  went  down  on  my  knees  and^prayed  to 
be  spared — spared  for  improvement!  And  something  grabbed  me. 
And  I  said,  "  Don't  take  me!  don't  take  me  \  "  for  I  thought  it 
was  him.  But  when  I  looked  up,  it  was  only  a  smoky  looking 
kind  of  man,  with  a  flag  in  his  hand,  and  he  held  me  tight  an^ 


74 


WERNER'S  READINGS 


pushed  me  over  the  irons,,  and  said  he:  ei  Old  lady,  you  came  about 
as  nigh  being  run  over  as  you  ever  will,  and  miss  it  !" 
And  said  I,  "  I'm  spared  ?" 

"  Thanks  to  me,  yes,"  said  he.  "  Don't  you  ever  walk  along  a 
track  again  when  a  train  of  cars  is  coming." 

Then  I  began  to  know.  "  Was  that  a  steam-engine?"  I  asked. 
And  he  laughed  so  that  I  didn't  tell  him  I  thought  it  was  Satan. 
But  I  told  my  husband  when  I  got  home;  and  I've  always  reckoned 
the  Evil  One  must  look  more  like  that  than  anything  else  ever 
since.    


HEN  Jabez  Chow  came  courtin'  Corianna  Dowly,  Granther 


Peeks  was  jest  as  mad  as  hops.  You  see,  Corianna  she 
had  kep'  house  fur  granther  quite  a  spell,  and  he  didn't  want  to 
spare  her,  she  made  such  nice  griddle-cakes.  He  was  very  fond  of 
griddle-cakes.  He  hadn't  teeth  to  eat  nothin'  hard,  and  she  made 
'em  fur  him  fur  breakfast,  dinner,  and  supper.  So,  when  Jabez 
purposed  and  Corianna  accepted  him,  granther  said  "No,"  and 
said  he'd  cuss  her  ef  she  disobeyed  him. 

Now,  Corianna  could  have  done  what  she  was  a  minter  fur  all 
Granther  Peeks;  fur  she  was  risen  thirty.  But  she  was  a  pious 
gal,  and  she  felt  as  ef  her  granther's  cuss  would  sort  o'  blight  her; 
so  she  told  Jabez  she  couldn't  marry  him  nohow  until  granther 
either  died  or  give  in,  only  she  wasn't  able  to  help  herself  from 
meetin'  him  after  granther  had  gone  to  bed — jest  where  the  punkin 
patch  j'ined  outer  the  blueberry  medder,  and  the  old  popler  grew. 
Well,  some  mean  sneak  went  and  told  granther  about  it,  and  he 
follered  her  one  night,  and  found  'em  kissin';  and  when  he  seen 
that,  he  jest  up  and  cussed  her  and  drove  her  home  with  his  stick. 
Corianna  was  sobbin'  as  ef  her  heart  would  break. 

"You  cussed  me,  granther,"  she  kep'  a-sayin';  "and  now  it 
don't  make  no  matter  what  I  do.  Seem'  I'm  cussed,  I'll  jest  marry 
Jabez  any  way." 


CORIANNA'S  WEDDING. 


AND  RECITATIONS. 


75 


Well,  Granther  Peeks  he  felt  he'd  made  a  mistake,  and  he 
kinder  coaxed  her  up,  and  said  he'd  take  the  cuss  back.  But  when 
she  waked  up  next  day,  meanin'  to  run  away  and  marry  Jabez,  she 
found  granther  had  been  before  her.  He'd  nailed,  and  locked, 
and  barred  the  whole  house  up  as  ef  it  was  a  prison,  and  lef  jest  a 
little  hole  in  the  kitchen  shutter  fur  her  to  see  to  cook  by.  The 
front  door  he  kept  the  key  of  in  his  pocket. 

"T  guess  we  won't  have  any  more  meetin's  by  moonlight,  my 
dear,"  says  he,  sardonic  as  ever  could  be.  "  When  stores  is  needed 
I'll  go  oat,  and  you've  got  a  pump  in  the  kitchen." 

"  You  don't  mean  to  lock  me  up  this  way  fur  good,  granther?" 
says  Oorianna.    "  I  shall  die  of  want  of  air.    So  will  you." 

"  I  guess  1  kin  stand  it,"  says  granther.  "  When  you  want  fresh 
air  you  kin  stick  your  head  out  of  that  there  appychure  in  the  shut- 
ter; and  to-day  I  want  pancakes  with  rawsberry  jam  into  'em  and 
lots  of  coffee.  I  worked  real  hard  last  night  puttin'  up  them  fas- 
tening and  I  want  stren'thenin'.  She  jest  looked  at  him  when  he 
said  that;  she  didn't  durst  trust  herself  to  say  nothin'. 

"Don't  goggle  at  me,  Corianna.    It's  worse  than  sassin'." 

So  while  she  was  a-fryin'  the  cakes,  she  kep'  sayin'  over  and 
over  to  herself,  "  Now  I  lay  me,"  and  "  Twinkle,  twinkle,  little 
star,"  to  keep  back  her  wickedness.  She'd  slaved  fur  that  old 
man  and  she'd  been  fond  of  him,  and  this  is  what  had  come  of  it. 
She  told  us  all  this  through  the  hole  in  the  shutter.  We  got 
kinder  scared,  you  know,  seein'  the  house  shet  up,  and  went  to 
call,  but  didn't  get  let  in;  but  arter  awhile,  when  we'd  knocked 
and  knocked  a  spell  to  the  front  door  and  the  side  door,  we 
went  round  to  the  back,  and  there  was  poor  Corianna's  face 
a-stickin'  out  of  the  hole  in  the  shutter.  The  tears  rolled  down  her 
cheeks  as  she  told  the  story,  and  We  had  to  cry  too.  Maria  Brown, 
she  was  jest  proposin'  breakin'  down  the  door  and  carryin'  poor 
Corianna  off,  when  a  upstairs  shutter  opened  and  Granther  Peeks 
poked  his  head  out. 

'*  See  here,  folkses,"  said  he,  "  a  man  has  a  right  to  keep  his  house 
shet  or  open  as  he  pleases,  and  to  order  his  wimmin  folks  as  he  sees 
fittin'.    You  tech  bolt,  or  bar,  or  lock,  or  hook,  on  my  premises, 


76 


WERNER'S  READINGS 


and  I'll  shoot  you  down  fust  and  have  you  took  up  fur  burglars 
afterward,  and  I'd  hev  the  law  on  my  side,  tu."  Then  he  showed 
us  a  big  boss  pistol-  and  says  he,  "It's  loaded/'  and  we  scattered. 
But  I  wrote  on  a  piece  of  paper,  "  I'll  tell  Jabez,"  and  gave  it  up 
to  Corianna,  pretendin'  to  kiss  her  good-bye.  And  never  was  I  so 
thankful  that  I  oilers  carried  a  pencil  for  new  recipes.  I  kep'  my 
promise,  and  that  night  Jabez  pranced  about  the  house,  but 
couldn't  get  a  peep  at  her.  No  more  he  couldn't  fur  a  couple  of 
days.  But  at  last  he  thought  of  tootin'  through  a  fish  horn.  If 
there  was  anythin'  Granther  Peeks  liked,  it  was  fish.  So  he  says 
to  Corianna:  "  Peek  out,  Corry,  and  see  ef  that's  shad;  shad's1  in 
season." 

So  Corry  poked  her  head  out  of  the  hole  and  saw  Jabez  bio  win' 
the  horn,  and  as  soon  as  he  saw  her  he  up  and  kissed  her  at  the 
shutter  hole. 

"Keep  up  courage,  Corianna;  this  thing  can't  last  long." 

"I  sha'n't,"  says  Corianna.  "Granther  says  the  law  can't  make 
a  man  open  his  doors,  and  I  don't  reckon  it  can ;  and  nobody  has  a 
right  to  demand  my  freedom,  as  fur  as  I  know." 

"  Your  husband  would." 

"  I  ain't  got  none." 

"  Have  one." 

(i  How  be  I  to  go  to  my  weddin'  ?" 

"  Let  your  weddin'  come  to  you." 

"Corry,  how's  the  fish  ?"  says  granther  from  inside. 

"It  isn't  shad,"  says  Corry,  "and  I  guess  it's  stale." 

"  Oh,"  says  granther,  "  don't  buy  none  ef  it's  stale  !" 

"1  sha'n't,"  says  Corry;  "  I'll  look  keerful." 

Out  o'  the  winder  she  sticks  her  head  again. 

"When  your  granther  is  at  tea,  Corianna,"  says  Jabez,  ''you 
come  to  the  hole.  Things  will  be  fixed  all  right  after  that.  Keep 
up  your  sperits." 

"  How's  the  fish  ?"  asks  granther. 

"Awful!"  says  Corianna,  givin' Jabez  a  kiss  and  drawin'  her 
head  in. 

She  felt  lots  happier,  fur  she  had  confidence  in  Jabez,  though 


AND  RECITATIONS. 


77 


she  didn't  know  how  he  was  goin'  to  fix  it.  That  evenin'  she  came 
down  to  tea  all  dressed  up,  and  she  made  Granther  Peeks  a  lovely 
lot  of  cakes  and  an  omelet,  and  he  sat  down  to  table  with  a  crash 
towel  under  his  chin,  and  began  to  eat  as  ef  he  hadn't  had  anythin' 
fur  a  fortnight;  and  as  soon  as  he  did  so  Corianna  began  to  fan 
herself  with  a  big  palm-leaf  fan  that  oilers  stood  behind  the  lamp, 
and  says  she: 

"  Oh,  fur  a  breath  of  air.  I've  got  to  have  a  breath  of  air  or 
choke  !" 

"  You  kin  git  it  at  the  hole  in  the  winder,  then/5  says  Granther 
Peeks.    "  You  know  my  reggylations." 

Then  Corianna  she  flew  to  the  hole  and  she  poked  her  head  out, 
and  there  she  saw  a  sight !  Close  against  the  house  stood  Jabez 
Chow,  with  white  gloves  and  a  white  tie  onto  him;  and  behind 
him  was  his  brother,  Plummer  Chow,  ditto;  and  t'other  side  was 
Sally  Post,  all  rigged  up  in  white,  with  a  bouquet,  for  bride-maid; 
and  between  them  was  Dominie  Chalmers,  that  had  baptized  her; 
and  next  him  was  Dominie  Brown,  and  all  over  the  garden  was 
scattered  the  fust  residents  of  the  village,  and  all  the  little  boys 
and  gals  was  perched  on  the  fences;  and  the  man  with  melons  had 
stopped  his  cart  to  see  the  spectacle,  and  there  was  Squire  Peeler, 
Justice  of  the  Peace,  perched  on  top  of  the  wood-shed — <e  A-wait- 
in'  my  turn  fur  to  act  in  this  here  case,  ladies  and  gentlemen," 
he  says,  in  them  there  commandin'  tones  of  his'n. 

Well,  when  Corianna  saw  all  this  she  turned  fust  red  and  then 
white.  We  ladies  kissed  our  hands  to  her,  and  the  jedge  atop  the 
wood-shed  he  h'isted  his  hat.  The  rest  of  the  men  took  off  theirs, 
and  the  dominie  he  lifted  up  his  hand,  and  commenced  to  talk  jest 
as  ef  he  was  in  meetin'.  When  he  came  to  askin'  whether  there 
was  any  one  present  that  could  give  a  reason  why  that  there  cere- 
mony shouldn't  perceed,  he  waited  quite  a  spell;  but  nobody  an- 
swered but  the  jedge,  who  remarked:  "Go  ahead,  dominie  !'5 
Then  the  dominie  went  ahead,  and  all  went  on  quite  reg'lar,  ex- 
cep'  when  Corianna  disappeared  quite  sudden  because  Granther 
Peeks  bellered  fur  more  honey,  and  once  when  she  had  to  fry  him 
another  cake  to  top  off  with. 


78 


WERNER'S  READINGS 


However,  the  dominie  got  her  married  all  safe,  ring  on  and  all, 
and  writ  out  a  certificate,  and  the  witnesses  signed  it,  and  Jabez 
kissed  her,  and  so  did  the  bride-maid;  and  then  the  squire  came 
down  off  the  wood-shed  and  went  round  to  the  front  door,  and 
battered  onto  the  panels  and  rung  the  bell  until  Granther  Peeks 
stuck  his  head  out  of  the  winder,  and  says  he : 

"  How  de  do,  jedge?" 

"  Fair  to  middling"  says  the  jedge.  "  Why  don't  you  open  your 
door,  Mr.  Peeks?" 

"  I  ain't  openin'  no  doors  jest  now." 

"Guess  you've  got  to,"  says  the  jedge.  "There's  a  man  says 
you've  got  his  wife  shet  up  there." 

"I  ain't !  There  ain't  nobody  here  but  Corianna;  she's  a  spinster 
and  my  gran'darter." 

"  Mr.  Chow,  you  jest  step  here,"  says  the  jedge. 

So  Jabez  comes  around  the  house. 

"  Demand  your  wife." 

"Well,  Pm  here,  Mr.  Peeks, for  that  purpose.    You've  got  my 
wife,  Mrs.  Jabez  Chow,  in  there,  and  I  want  her,"  says  Jabez. 
"Your  wife?"  says  granther,  grinnin'. 
"  Yes,  sir,"  says  the  dominie;  "  I've  jest  married  'em." 
"  I  assisted,"  says  Dominie  Brown. 
"Will  the  witnesses  come  forward?"  says  the  jedge. 
Then  we  all  trooped  arOund  the  house. 

"  You  see,  granther,"  says  Jabez,  "  Cupid  don't  need  doors  to  get 
in  it  ef  there's  ever  so  little  a  hole  in  a  shutter." 

Jest  then  Corianna  went  up  to  granther  and  showed  him  her 
ring  and  her  certificate,  and  that  settled  it. 

In  a  minute  more  he  opened  the  door  and  we  walked  in.  He 
was  cryin'. 

"0  Jabez,  Jabez!"  says  he,  "how  could  you?  Nobody  else 
kin  make  pancakes  that  I  kin  digest  only  Corianna.  Now  I  shall 
starve  to  death  !" 

"  No,  you  sha'n't  !"  says  Jabez.  "  Can't  you  board  with  us  ? 
and  she  kin  fry  'em  all  day,  if  you  want  her  to  and  she's  so  dis* 
posed." 


AND  RECITATIONS. 


79 


"  Of  course  I  will,"  says  Corianna. 

Then  Granther  Peeks  got  out  his  red  pocket-handkercher  and 
wiped  his  eyes. 

"Ef  you'd  explained  that  thereto  me  before,  Jabez,"  says  he, 
"I  wouldn't  hev  made  no  objections;  but  doin' without  Corianna's 
pancakes  was  a  matter  of  life  and  death  to  me,  my  son." 


NETTIE  BUDD  BEFORE  HER  SECOND 

BALL. 


ELL,  here  I  am,  all  ready  for  my  second  ball.    If  I  see  you 


correctly  in  my  glass,  pale  blue  becomes  you,  Nettie  Budd, 
and  you  look  very  well,  though  not  at  all  like  that  picture  of 
"  Beauty  Before  Her  First  Ball "  in  the  Academy  of  Design.  Tho 
idea  of  calling  her  "  Beauty/'  with  her  poky  chin  and  hard  black 
eyes  !  Her  first  ball  ?  Pshaw!  she'd  been  to  twenty,  and  nobody 
would  look  at  herself  over  her  shoulder  like  that,  except  for  effect. 
Silly  French  thing!   I'm  very  much  nicer  looking. 

I'm  nearly  eighteen,  but  this  is  only  my  second  ball.  Mamma 
generally  says,  "  Her  dear  grandpa  does  not  like  balls,"  when  I'm 
asked  to  one.  Why  should  he?  He's  seventy-five,  and  has  rheu- 
matism. I  wonder  whether  it  is  the  expense  or  the  effect  of  that 
other  ball  of  mine,  which  certainly  was  not  encouraging. 

Dear  me,  how  well  I  remember  all  I  felt  before  that  affair.  I 
had  read  about  a  great  many  "  first  appearances"  at  balls,  and  sup- 
posed I  should  be  treated  like  a  young  princess;  but  I  wasn't. 
When  I  went  in  nobody  took  any  notice  of  me  but  a  fat  girl,  who 
said  to  her  partner:  "  If  /had  such  thin  arms  I'd  cover  'em  up,  if 
it  was  only  with  lace  sleeves." 

There  was  a  seat  beside  old  Mrs.  Thomas,  and  Aunt  Peterkin 
told  me  I'd  better  sit  down,  because  I  should  be  tired  dancing,  I 
was  so  unused  to  it.  I  sat  down.  Aunt  Peterkin  herself  danced 
with  a  big  man  with  whiskers,  and  old  Mrs.  Thomas  went  to  sleep 
and  snored.  I  " rested"  until  I  thought  I  should  go  wild!  Then 
Dr.  Dosem,  our  family  physician,  saw  me,  and  said: 


80 


WERNER'S  READINGS 


"Come,  my  dear;  let  me  be  your  partner.  I  think  this  is  a 
polka,  and — " 

As  if  anybody  danced  polkas!  'But  I  danced  with  him.  We  went 
round  somehow.  My  feet  never  touched  the  floor;  and  at  last  we 
tumbled  up  into  a  corner,  and  he,  all  out  of  breath  with  carrying 
me  about,  said: 

"  Fll  get  you  a  younger  partner  for  the  next  dance.  I'm  a  little 
out  of  practice,  I  think." 

Mrs.  Mink,  a  lively,  young  married  lady  we  know,  was  close  by, 
and  she  told  Mr.  Mink  to  dance  with  me.  He  looked  as  solemn  as 
if  he  had  been  ordered  to  instant  execution,  and  said,  "I  shall  be 
delighted,"  with  a  face  like  an  iron  mask  and  the  sternest  counte- 
nance. We  danced  the  lancers.  He  never  spoke  a  word  to  me,  and 
at  the  end  he  took  me  back  to  Mrs.  Mink  in  utter  silence.  Still  it 
was  a  dance.  Then  Mrs.  Mink,  who  certainly  tried  to  do  her  best 
for  me,  introduced  me  to  a  young  collegian,  and  he  bowed  and 
smiled,  and  said  he  didn't  dance,  but  if  I  would  promenade  a  little 
he  should  be  proud  to  offer  me  his  arm.  So  we  promenaded,  and 
the  dancers  trod  on  our  toes,  and  the  master  of  ceremonies — I  sup- 
pose that  was  what  he  was — asked  us  to  go  somewhere  else;  so  he 
took  me  to  the  refreshment-room  for  lemonade;  and  when  he  was 
trying  to  get  some  for  me,  I  heard  Dr.  Dosem  coaxing  a  great  long, 
conceited  puppy  to  dance  with  me,  not  knowing  I  was  within  hearing. 

" Nice  little  thing,"  the  doctor  said,  "just  out  of  school.  Now 
do  give  her  a  dance;  you're  a  swell,  you  know;  fine  dancer,  and  all 
that    It  will  set  her  up." 

"  Pretty  ?"  asked  my  dandy. 

"  Not  yet;  she'll  be  a  fine  woman,  though,"  replied  my  doctor. 

"I  hate  bread  and  butter  when  it's  not  pretty,"  remarked  my 
dandy;  "  but  I'll  dance  with  her  out  of  pity,  to  oblige  you." 

Afterward,  when  Aunt  Peterkin  had  found  me,  and  scolded  me 
for  leaving  old  Mrs.  Thomas — (t  my  chaperone,"  she  called  her — 
the  doctor  brought  up  his  dandy  and  told  me  that  he  "  begged  the 
pleasure  of  the  next  waltz." 

Who  that  had  any  respect  for  herself  could  have  been  danced 
with  "out  of  pity?" 


AND  RECITATIONS. 


81 


I  said,  "  Thank  you,  but  I  don't  want  to  dance  with  that  gentle 
man.    I  don't  like  his  looks." 

At  this,  my  dandy  grew  crimson.  My  doctor  roared.  My  aunt 
stared  at  me  as  if  she  were  going  to  turn  into  a  pillar  of  salt,  or 
something.  And  even  when  I  explained  in  private,  she  said  that 
I  could  not  dance  again,'  for  a  lady  who  had  refused  one  man  at  a 
ball  could  not  dance  with  another.  It  wasn't  etiquette.  Well, 
nobody  asked  me,  or  I'd  have  seen  whether  I  could  or  not.  And 
after  a  while  I  told  my  aunt  I  was  tired  of  watching  her  flirt,  and 
that  I  should  think  a  widow  would  be  ashamed  to  go  on  like  that; 
and  then  I  went  and  sat  in  the  dressing-room  until  three  o'clock. 
/  didn't  have  any  supper.  Aunt  said  she  didn't  know  until  too 
late. 

Well,  it  wasn't  in  the  least  like  the  first  ball  of  a  princess,  was 
it?  This  is  my  second.  I  know  how  to  manage  better  now.  Be- 
sides, that  silly  young  Jack  Hacker  will  get  all  the  dances  he  can, 
and  be  miserable  when  I  waltz  with  any  one  else,  so  I  think  I  shall 
be  happy  and  enjoy  myself  this  time. 


A.UNTY  DOLEFUL'S  VISIT. 


t_r  OW  do  you  do,  Cornelia  ?  I  heard  you  were  sick,  and  I 
stepped  in  to  cheer  you  up  a  little.  My  friends  often  say, 
"  It's  such  a  comfort  to  see  you,  Aunty  Doleful.  You  have  such 
a  flow  of  conversation,  and  are  so  lively."  Besides,  I  said  to  my- 
self, as  I  catfne  up  the  stairs,  "Perhaps  it's  the  last  time  I'll  ever  see 
Cornelia  Jane  alive." 

You  don't  mean  to  die  yet,  eh?  Well,  now,  how  do  you  know? 
You  can't  tell.  You  think  you  are  getting  better;  but  there  was 
poor  Mrs.  Jones  sitting  up,  and  every  one  saying  how  smart  she 
was,  and  all  of  a  sudden  she  was  taken  with  spasms  in  the  heart, 
and  went  off  like  a  flash.  But  you  must  be  careful,  and  not  get 
anxious  or  excited.  Keep  quite  calm,  and  don't  fret  about  any- 
thing. Of  course,  things  can't  go  on  just  as  if  you  were  down- 
stairs; and  I  wondered  whether  you  knew  your  little  Billy  was 


82 


WERNERS  READINGS 


sailing  about  in  a  tub  on  the  mill-pond,  and  that  your  little  Sammy 
was  letting  your  little  Jimmy  down  from  the  veranda  roof  in  a 
clothes-basket. 

Gracious  goodness!  what's  the  matter?  I  guess  Providence  '11 
take  care  of  'em.  Don't  look  so.  You  thought  Bridget  was  watch- 
ing them  ?  Well,  no,  she  isn't.  I  saw  her  talking  to  a  man  at  the 
gate.  He  looked  to  me  like  a  burglar.  No  doubt  she  let  him  take 
the  impression  of  the  door-key  in  wax,  and  then  he'll  get  in  and 
murder  you  all.  There  was  a  family  at  Kobble  Hill  all  killed  last 
week  for  fifty  dollars.    Now,  don't  fidget  so;  it's  bad  for  the  baby. 

Poor  little  dear!  How  singular  it  is,  to  be  sure,  that  you  can't 
tell  whether  a  child  is  blind,  or  deaf  and  dumb,  or  a  cripple  at  that 
age.    It  might  be  all,  and  you'd  never  know  it. 

Most  of  them  that  have  their  senses  make  bad  use  of  them 
though;  that  ought  to  be  your  comfort,  if  it  does  turn  out  to  have 
anything  dreadful  the  matter  with  it.  And  more  don't  live  a  year. 
I  saw  a  baby's  funeral  down  the  street  as  I  came  along. 

How  is  Mr.  Kobble?  Well,  but  finds  it  warm  in  towir  eh  ?  Well, 
I  should  think  he  would.  They  are  dropping  down  by  hundreds 
there  with  sun-stroke.  You  must  prepare  your  mind  to  have  him 
brought  home  any  day.  Anyhow,  a  trip  on  these  railroad  trains  is 
just  risking  your  life  every  time  you  take  one.  Back  and  forth 
every  day  as  he  is,  it's  just  trifling  with  danger. 

Dear!  dear!  now  to  think  what  dreadful  things  hang  over  us  all 
the  time !   Dear !  dear ! 

Scarlet-fever  has  broken  out  in  the  village,  Cornelia.  Little 
Isaac  Potter  has  it,  and  I  saw  your  Jimmy  playing  with  him  last 
Saturday. 

Well,  I  must  be  going  now.  I've  got  another  sick  friend;  and  I 
sha'n't  think  my  duty  done  unless  I  cheer  her  up  a  little  before  I 
sleep.  Good -by.  How  pale  you  look,  Cornelia.  I  don't  believe 
you  have  a  good  doctor.  Do  send  him  away  and  try  some  one  else. 
You  don't  look  as  well  as  you  did  when  I  came  in.  But  if  any- 
thing happens,  send  for  me  at  once.  If  I  can't  do  anything  else, 
I  can  cheer  you  up  a  little.  The  Lord  be  with  you,  for  you'll  soon 
be  with  the  Lord. 


AND  RECITATIONS. 


83 


THOUGHTS  AT  A  PARTY. 


HE  similarity  of  man  is  very  perplexing.    I  don't  allude  to 


the  wonderful  likeness,  anatomically  prepared,  of  man  to  his 
brother  monkey.  I  am  thinking  of  the  full-dress  gentleman  and 
the  full-dress  waiter.  If  some  one  doesn't  put  a  chalk  mark  on  the 
back  of  that  handsome  waiter,  whose  principal  duty  seems  to  be  to 
wave  his  glove  at  the  other  waiters,  I  know  Miss  Gushington  will 
seize  him  by  the  arm,  under  the  impression  that  he  is  a  person  of 
distinction  to  whom  she  has  been  introduced,  and  drag  him  away 
to  dance  with  her.  I  should  like  to  warn  her,  only  it  would  be  such 
fun  to  see  her  do  it. 

The  real  person  of  distinction,  My  Lord  Fitz  Foodie,  from  over 
the  sea,  is  standing  in  the  corner  there.  He  has  been  stricken 
dumb  by  poor  Mr.  Spitz,  who  always  makes  such  dreadful  mistakes, 
and  who,  as  the  nobleman  entered  the  room  looking  about  him  for 
his  hostess,  cried  out  to  him:  "I  say,  here,  waiter,  two  ices." 

Five  minutes  afterward,  Mr.  Spitz,  who  is  slow,  said,  "Beg 
pardon,  Fm  sure,"  to  one  of  the  waiters,  who  did  not  at  all  know 
what  he  meant,  and  said,  "  Yes,  sir — certainly,  sir." 

Now,  my  lord  is  glaring  indignantly  in  a  corner,  with  stout  Miss 
Sphynx  standing  on  his  toes,  and  his  hostess  is  looking  for  him. 
She  has  just  bowed  to  the  tall  waiter,  and  thinks  she  has  found 
Fitz  Foodie.  What  will  happen  now  ?  Oh,  nothing.  The  waiter 
retires  gracefully,  gripping  lemonade  cups  in  his  gloved  hands. 

Talking  of  bowing  !  Poor  Mr.  Bobolink,  how  mortified  he  is! 
He  has  bowed  most  gracefully  to  a  bust  of  Pallas  upon  a  pedestal. 
If  near-sighted  people  only  would  wear  glasses  !  "  Do  you  suppose 
she  means  to  cut  me  ?"  he  asks  his  friend,  in  a  mortified  tone  of 
voice.  "  That  fair  girl  in  white  ?  It's  Miss  Blanch  Blanc  ;  I  should 
know  her  by  her  complexion  in  any  company  \" 

Horror  of  horrors!  There  is  Miss  Bliss,  the  poetess,  who  scorns 
fine  dress.  Good  Miss  Pleasem  undertook  to  advise  her  to  sacrifice 
to  the  graces  a  little,  for  so  grand  an  occasion.  The  result  is 
terrific:  an  orange-colored  window-curtain — I  think  it  is  a  window- 


84 


WERNERS  READINGS 


curtain — over  green  grenadine,  and  a  scarlet  sash.  Has  she  dropped 
her  hair  down  her  back  on  purpose/  or  lost  her  comb  by  accident  ? 
No  one  will  ever  know. 

The  lancers!  Mr.  Spitz  is  coming  to  ask  me  to  dance.  If  only  it 
were  genteel  to  call  the  figures!  but  it  is  not.  All  the  men  in  that 
set  are  learned,  scientific,  or  literary  persons.  When  the  hostess 
has  asked  them  to  dance,  they  have  said  "  Certainly/'  and  now 
they  will  stand  at  their  respective  posts,  each  talking  of  his  hobby, 
until  despairing  partners  whisper,  "  Our  turn,  please."  Then 
they  will  amble  about  a  little,  be  dragged  back,  hit  their  heads 
together,  tear  the  ladies'  dresses,  apologize,  turn  the  wrong  lady, 
bow  to  everybody  indiscriminately,  and  become  the  laughing-stock 
of  the  young  non-dancing  men,  who  know  every  step  and  figure  per- 
fectly, and  are  too  lazy  to  do  them.  A  literary  and  scientific  set  of 
the  lancers  is  glorious.  Here  I  go.  Mr.  Spitz  always  falls  down 
with  his  partner,  to.o. 

Mr.  Spitz  wants  to  know  whether  the  tall,  splendid  gentleman  in 
side-whiskers  is  the  celebrated  Professor  Smasher  who  discovered 
something,  or  did  something  wonderful.  I  say  "  No,"  with  cer- 
tainty. The  person  with  the  dusty  coat,  who  skulked  in  just  now 
as  if  he  came  after  the  spoons,  and  sits  on  a  low  chair  behind  the 
etagere,  may  be  he;  but  not  this  glorious  combination  of  side- 
whisker,  white  glove,  and  hot-house  button-hole  bouquet. 

Now,  ivliy  does  old  Mr.  Scroggins  say  to  middle-aged  Miss  Ropes, 
"Our  dancing  days  are  over,  and  it  pleases  us  best  to  look  on  now?" 
Does  he  suppose  that  that  is  the  way  to  make  himself  agreeable  at 
an  evening  party?  And,  yes — the  mistake  has  happened,  just  as  I 
expected.  Miss  Gushington  is  telling  that  handsome  waiter  that 
she  "hasn't  met  him  since  the  Charity  Ball,"  and  he  says,  "  No, 
ma'am  ;  certainly  not,  ma'am  ;"  just  as  — "  Dear  me,  Mr.  Spitz,  I 
hope  you  are  not  hurt  ?" 

"  Oh,  no  ;  not  at  all." 


AND  RECITATIONS. 


85 


SIMON  SOLITARY'S  IDEAL  WIFE. 

T  HAVE  had  ladies  say  to  me,  "  Mr.  Solitary,  you  really  are  look- 
ing  for  perfection,rjind  it  is  hard  to  find." 

Now,  that  is  not  so.  I  do  not  expect  women  to  be  perfect;  men 
are  not.  But,  naturally,  I  have  my  ideal,  and  it  is  very  strange 
that  I  have  not  yet  found  the  few  little  qualities  I  require  com- 
bined in  the  person  of  one  charming  lady.  Fll  mention  my  ideas, 
and  I  am  sure  you  will  not  find  them  at  all  unreasonable;  and  if 
you  know  any  one  such  as  I  describe,  you  might  drop  me  a  line  ; 
HI  never  mention  it.  Fd  like  to  marry  and  settle  down,  for  I've 
really  been  quite  wild  in  my  day;  and  at  fifty  odd — but  no  matter. 

I  rhould  like  the  lady  to  be  very  pretty,  very  young,  extremely 
sensible,  and  with  all  the  accomplishments.  But  as  to  dancing,  I 
could  not  allow  her  to  dance.  I  don't  dance  myself.  She  should 
be  a  brilliant  woman;  and  when  I  express  an  opinion,  she  should 
at  once  agree  to  it.  My  word  should  be  law  to  her.  At  the  same 
time,  she  should  be  very  independent,  and  not  give  me  any  trouble 
waiting  on  her,  unless  I  felt  just  like  it. 

She  should  be  a  splendid  cook,  and  get  my  dinners  herself;  but 
she  should  always  appear  at  table  perfectly  dressed,  and  not  with  a 
flushed  face  and  a  blowzy  air;  I  hate  that.  She  should  make  my 
friends  her  own,  and  entertain  all  my  relations ;  but  she  shouldn't 
waut  to  have  her  own  relatives  bothering  about.  Oh,  dear,  no!  She 
should  live  for  me. 

She  should  have  a  perfect  temper;  and  if  I  said  anything  hasty, 
as  a  man  has  a  right  to  do  in  his  own  house,  she  should  not  answer 
back  and  get  huffy.  She  should  wait  until  I  get  over  my  pet  before 
she  speaks. 

I  should  have  all  the  liberal  ideas,  and  she  should  never  check 
them;  tut,  as  women  ought  to  be  pious,  I  should  desire  her  to  be 
deeply  so.  However,  she  must  not  go  gadding  to  church  and  even- 
ing meetings  constantly,  or  make  a  tremendous  fuss  if  I  should 
occasionally  say  a  swear  word.  She  should  know  her  place  too 
well.    She  should  be  queen-like  to  others,  and  humble  to  me — sit 


86 


WERNER'S  READINGS 


at  my  feet  and  listen  to  my  words  of  wisdom.  She  should  never 
glance  at  another  man.  As  for  flirting,  if  she  did  that,  Fd  get  a 
divorce.  No  young  cousins  with  mustaches,  or  "old  friends  of 
pa's,"  or  any  of  that  nonsense  for  my  wife.  But  as  for  my  young 
female  relations  and  connections,  our  home  should  be  their  home, 
and  she  shouldn't  listen  about  to  see  if  I  said  a  polite  word  to  one 
of  them. 

It  might  be  best  for  her  to  have  a  little  money  of  her  own — 
enough  for  her  dress,  and  to  buy  her  own  tickets  if  she  wanted  to 
gad  about  and  hear  things.  And  I  should  expect  her  to  be  eco- 
nomical, for  I  sha'n't  leave  her  anything  if  I  die  first.  I  have  fixed 
my  money  in  the  form  of  an  annuity,  and  the  personal  property 
would  only  be  hers  if  she  took  her  Bible  oath  never  to  marry  again. 

Really,  it  seems  singular  to  me  that  I  haven't  found  a  girl  to  suit 
me  yet!  The  fair  sex  must  be  deteriorating.  However,  now  that 
people  know  I'm  looking  for  a  wife,  and  understand  what  advan- 
tages I  offer,  no  doubt  parents  will  be  anxious  to  introduce  me  to 
their  daughters.  I  am  not  "  made  up  "  at  all  like  some  men  of  my 
age.   /  don't  dye  my  hair — I  haven't  any. 


THE  DUTIFULS. 

T  T  was  raining  hard.  Here  was  a  pretty  day  for  our  picnic,  that 
picnic  to  Blooming  Grove,  which  the  Dutifuls  were  to  have 
taken,  if  all  had  been  propitious :  The  picnic  that  I  wanted  to  go  to 
so  very,  very  much,  that  I  had  dreamt  of  it  for  four  weeks;  that  I 
had  prepared  for  to  an  extent  that,  considering  my  income,  was 
extravagant.  Not  that  I  cared  so  much  for  the  trip  in  itself,  but 
because  at  this  Dutiful  picnic — 

Wait!    You  do  not  know  who  the  Dutifuls  were. 

We  were  ten  young  men  and  ten  young  women,  who  had  formed 
a  society,  the  motto  of  which  was  "Duty  before  Pleasure." 

We  were  a  charitable  society,  and  were  to  do  good  to  the  poor. 
Whenever  any  poor  people  needed  us,  we  were  vowed  to  attend 
them,  no  matter  what  pleasant  thing  we  were  engaged  in. 


AND  RECITATIONS. 


8? 


The  gentlemen,  of  course,  were  exempt,  during  business  hours, 
for  business  was  duty,  but  the  command  of  a  parent  was  the  only 
excuse  for  the  young  ladies. 

We  tried  many  names,  but  finally  settled  down  on  "  The  Duti- 
fuls." We  put  on  badges,  and  took  a  vow,  and  wrote  our  names  in 
a  little  book,  and  were  to  m  and  report  once  a  week.  None  of 
our  poor  were  to  want  for  food,  clothing,  Bible-reading,  or  medicine 
if  we  could  help  it.  If  we  had  not  what  they  needed  we  were  to 
beg.  If  they  sent  for  us  we  were  to  go  to  them,  and  listen  to  all 
their  complaints,  and  the  poorer,  uglier,  and  more  uninteresting 
they  were,  the  oftener  we  were  to  visit  them. 

We  begged  a  little  upper  room,  and  we  stored  jam  and  jelly, 
canned  soups  and  blankets,  red  flannel  and  hymn-books  as  we  could 
get  them ;  and  we  had  quite  a  little  list  of  poor. 

A  good  many  of  them  were  far  from  agreeable;  but  the  most 
disagreeable  of  all  was  the  Widow  Damper.  Older  and  more  experi- 
enced people  would  never  have  borne  with  the  Widow  Damper,  who 
required  of  us  the  most  remarkable  attentions;  but  we  were  all 
young  and  enthusiastic,  the  oldest  not  twenty-three,  and  we  put  up 
with  the  Widow  Damper. 

Now  you  have  some  notion  of  what  the  Dutifuls  were;  but  you 
don't  know  why  I  wanted  so  very  much  to  go  on  the  picnic. 

Edward*  and  I  had  been  engaged  to  be  married  when  the  Dutifuls 
formed  themselves  into  a  society,  and  we  loved  each  other  dearly, 
but  something  had  happened  soon  after  that  had  made  us  quarrel. 
I  didn't  mean  it ;  he  didn't  mean  it;  but  a  word — and  a  look — a 
little  neglect  on  one  side — a  little  resentment  on  the  other — and  the 
deed  was  done.  I  gave  him  back  his  ring — he  gave  me  back  the 
locket  with  my  hair  in  it,  and  life  grew  blanker  and  darker  than  I 
could  have  thought  it  would. 

We  had  not  met  since  that  dreadful  day  when  we  stood  in  the 
parlor,  and  I  said: 

"  Mr.  Devere,  after  such  words,  of  course  there  can  be  nothing 
more  between  us." 

And  he  answered: 

"  As  you  please,  Miss  Ronan,"  just  as  though  we  had  never  called 


83 


WERNER'S  READINGS 


each  other  Edward  and  Rose  in  all  our  lives.  He  did  his  duty  in 
the  society,  but  he  did  not  come  to  the  meetings,  but  paid  his  fine 
instead. 

And  now  that  some  months  had  passed,  I  wanted  to  see  him 
again.  Not  that  I  should  have  spoken  had  we  met.  I  was  too 
proud  for  that,  I  hope. 

To  this  picnic  he  must  come.  They  had  put  him  upon  the 
managing  committee,  and  across  his  notice  was  written  the  word 
Duty. 

Whoever  got  such  a  notice  must  be  on  hand.  And  I  knew  Ned; 
he  would  be  there.  I  had  bought  a  new  dress  of  his  favorite  color 
— a  pale  dove  tint — and  I  had  had  it  made  Jike  the  dress  he  had 
liked  best  in  those  old,  happy  £imes,  and  I  had  the  daintiest  shoes 
and  gloves,  and  a  hat  from  Paris.  I  had  coaxed  papa  for  that.  Oh! 
it  was  not  vanity;  but  if  he  saw  me,  I  wanted  him  to  see  me  at  my 
best.    But  here  was  the  day,  and  the  rain  beat  down. 

No,  the  Dutifuls  would  not  picnic  that  day.  I  should  not  meet 
Edward.    Perhaps  I  should  never  meet  him  again. 

"  I  suppose/'  said  mamma  at  the  door,  "  I  suppose,  my  dear,  that 
there  will  be  no  picnic  to-day  ?" 

"  Of  course  not,"  said  I. 

"  What  a  pity  it  should  rain  to-day,"  said  mamma.  "  And  of 
course  in  such  a  storm  I  can  tell  the  Widow  Damper's  messenger 
that  you  can't  come.  I  know  that  '  Duty  before  Pleasure'  is  the 
motto  of  your  society,  but  I  cannot  think  it  any  one's  duty  to  give 
herself  a  cold." 

u  Oh,  I  don't  care  for  duty  this  morning,"  said  I.  "  You  can  send 
the  Widow  Damper  word  that  I'm  sicker  than  she  is." 

"1  did  send  the  messenger  away,"  said  mamma.  "I'm  glad  you 
approve.    I  was  afraid  you  wouldn't." 

Then  I  went  down  to  breakfast,  nibbled  some  toast,  and  at  last 
cried  out: 

et  I  will  go  to  the  Widow  Damper's.  I've  no  business  to  break 
my  vow;  and  since  I  can't  have  any  pleasure,  I'll  be  as  miserably 
•  dutiful  as  possible." 

Then  rushing  to  my  room  I  donned  my  waterproof,  my  overshoes, 


AND  RECITATIONS. 


89 


and  a  dingy,  old  brown  hat,  seized  upon  an  umbrella,  and  hurried 
away. 

Mrs.  Damper  lived  in  a  very  dirty  court  which  turned  out  of  a 
very  dirty  street,  and  at  the  very  top  of  a  very  dirty  house,  of  which 
hers  was  the  very  dirtiest  room. 

I  knocked  at  the  door,  and  being  answered  by  a  doleful  "  K'min," 
which  I  knew  well,  lifted  the  latch  and  entered. 

There  sat  the  Widow  Damper  in  her  rocking-chair — a  gift  from 
the  Dutifuls — wrapped  in  a  dressing-gown  donated  by  the  same 
party;  the  sleeves  of  this  robe  were  tucked  up  with  pins,  and  on  his 
knees,  at  her  feet,  knelt  a  young  gentleman  with  his  coat  off,  polish- 
ing away  at  her  arm  with  a  vigor  which  had  already  made  his  face 
redder  than  her  robe;  but  that  face,  flushed  though  it  was,  I  recog- 
nized. It  was  Ned  Devere.  My  Ned.  Oh,  no,  not  my  Ned  any 
more.  I  retreated.  It  was  evidently  my  duty  to  go,  but  I  must  look 
once — just  once — and — oh ! — oh ! — oh ! 

"Don't  go,"  piped  the  Widow  Damper.  "You  jest  stay,  Miss 
Eonan.  This  here  ain't  only  Mr.  Devere.  I  was  took  with  rheu- 
matics that  bad  that  I  sent  a  neighbor's  child,  which  I  know  you'll 
give  five  cents  to,  Miss,  for  going;  or  else  she's  that  mean,  she  won't 
never  fetch  you  again.  I'll  take  keer  on't,  thankee.  I  sent  her  for 
one  o'  them  Dutifuls,  I  didn't  care  which,  to  rub  my  elbers,  and 
Mr.  Devere,  he  came.  She  said  you  wouldn't,  but  I  see  she  lied ; 
and  I'm  out  o'  tea  and  sugar,  and  I'd  like  some  flanning,  and  ef 
there  was  a  little  more  of  that  old  port,  it's  jest  the  thing  for  me; 
likewise  jelly  is  soothing." 

"I'll  go  and  send  some,  Mrs.  Damper,"  said  I. 

"Not  yet,  Miss,"  said  Mrs.  Damper,  "  I've  got  two  elbers,  and 
both  aches.  Now  Mr.  Devere  here  has  ben  flying  around  from  one 
to  t'other,  but  you  jest  ketch  hold,  and  you  can  go  on  stiddy,  both 
of  you." 

Duty  before  pleasure.  .  I  remembered  my  vow.  I  tossed  off  my 
hat  and  cloak,  and  set  to  work.  I  did  not  look  at  Ned,  but  he  saw 
me,  of  course.  All  red  and  blowzy  from  my  run  through  wind  and 
rain,  and  with  my  worst  dress  on,  and  not  so  much  as  a  neck-ribbon  : 
I  thought  of  this  as  I  polished  the  Widow  Damper's  knobby  elbow 


90 


WERNER'S  READINGS 


witli  all  my  might  and  main.  We  rubbed  in  unison,  he  and  I,  paus- 
ing now  and  then  for  breath.  Dutifuls  could  refuse  the  poor  under 
their  charge  nothing. 

Suddenly  the  Widow  Damper  broke  out: 

"  Ain't  none  o'  them  Dutifuls  ever  going  to  make  a  match  of  it?" 
she  spoke  to  me. 

I  must  answer.  Dutifuls  were  to  be  very  patient  with  their 
patients. 

"  No,  I  think  not,"  I  said. 

"  I  thought  that  was  the  objeck,"  said  the  ungrateful  old  woman. 
We  stopped  polishing  for  a  moment.  Then: 
"  To  do  our  duty  is  the  object,"  said  I. 

"  But  young  gals  and  young  men  will  be  young  gals  and  young 
men,"  said  Widow  Damper.  "  Lor,  tell  me.  I  don't  get  no  news. 
Who  is  engaged  to  who  ?" 

"Two  of  them  were  engaged  once,  Mrs.  Damper,"  said  Ned, 
polishing  away,  "but  she  was  outrageously  unreasonable,  and  so  it  s 
over. " 

"No,  he  was  absurdly  jealous,  and  so  it's  over,"  said  I. 

"  She  never  cared  for  him,  you  see,  Mrs.  Damper,"  said  Ned. 

"No;  she  discovered  that  he  never  cared  for  her,  Mrs.  Damper." 

"Mighty  sakes!"  cried  the  widow,  "rub  higher  up,  will  you  ?" 

We  rubbed  higher  up,  and  furiously. 

"Not  care!"  said  he.    "Ah!  little  she  knew." 

"And— little— he— knew!"  J  sobbed. 

"  You're  a  skinning  of  me,  you  two  Dutifuls,"  yelled  Mrs.  Damper, 
wrathfully. 

We  paused  and  released  the  elbows  we  had  vented  our  emotions 
on.  He  looked  at  me.  I  looked  at  him.  How  thin  he  was.  How 
pale.    Did  he  really  care  ? 

"  Ned,"  said  I,  softly. 

"  Rose,"  said  he. 


AND  RECITATIONS. 


91 


MRS.  PICKLES  WANTS  TO  BE  A  MAN. 

XT  0,  it's  not  because  he  has  the  suffrage  that  I  should  like  to  be 
■  a  man ;  nor  because  of  the  advantages  of  his  costume, 
though  it  is  enviable  when  one  is  trying  to  catch  a  train,  or  climb  - 
ing elevated-railroad  steps.  It's  what  I  call  the  impromptu-ness  of 
man's  life  that  makes  me  envy  him. 

There's  Pickles,  now.  He  comes  home  to  dinner,  smokes  his 
cigar  (taking his  time  about  it),  and  then  says:  "Well,  I  think  I'll 
go  somewhere."  And  all  he  has  to  do  is  to  put  his  hat  on  the  back 
of  his  head  and  go. 

Of  course,  I  could  go  somewhere,  too;  but  I  have  to  think  of  it 
the  day  before,  and  ask  Pickles  to  buy  tickets.  And  I  must  see  to 
my  dress  and  my  gloves,  and  ask  Aunt  Jemima,  as  a  favor,  to  come 
over  and  sit  with  the  children.  And  after  all  that  thought  and 
preparation  and  dressing,  perhaps  I'd  rather  stay  at  home  on  that 
particular  evening.  Just  when  the  thought  strikes  one  that  it 
would  be  pleasant  to  go  somewhere  is  the  time  to  go,  and  not  the 
next  day,  nor  the  day  after.  Pickles  can  do  that,  and  it's  one  of 
his  masculine  advantages. 

Then,  if  Pickles  feels  fidgety  or  restless,  even  if  it  is  twelve 
o'clock  at  night,  he  can  go  prowling  about;  he  can  march  up  and 
down  the  sidewalk,  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  or  sit  on  the 
horse-block  and  whistle  Yankee  Doodle,  or  go  down  to  the  wharf 
and  swing  his  feet  over  the  water.  Fancy  me  doing  that  sort  of 
thing  !  Gracious  goodness  !  Yet  I  could  often  quiet  my  nerves 
and  have  a  good  night's  rest,  if  I  might  seek  relief  in  some  such 
simple  way.  I  can't  go  to  the  druggist's  after  dark,  for  a  paper  of 
catnip  for  the  baby  without  being  asked,  "  Where  I'm  going  all 
alone  ?"  by  some  boy  with  a  tall  hat  on  his  head  and  a  cigar  in  his 
mouth,  or  some  old  man  who  ought  to  be  at  home  reading  the 
Bible  to  his  grandchildren. 

If  I  take  a  walk  in  the  daytime  without  some  such  solemn  mo- 
tive as  a  dry -goods  store  at  the  end  of  it,  any  one  who  sees  me  turn 
short  around  and  retrace  my  steps  regards  me  with  suspicion. 


92 


WERNERS  READINGS 


I'm  a  sort  of  boy  by  nature,  I  believe.  Fd  like  to  look  into 
shop-windows  and  see  what  crowds  are  about;  poke  into  auction- 
rooms  and  talk  to  any  peculiar-looking  person  I  meet;  stare  at  the 
people  hoisting  blocks  of  marble  and  gigantic  safes  to  the  tops  of 
houses,  or  the  man  going  up  the  telegraph  pole. 

I'd  like,  in  fact,  to  do  what  I  choose  without  remark;  but  Fm  a 
woman,  and  it's  my  province  to  look  as  though  I  had  swallowed 
the  furnace  poker,  and  say  "Prunes  and  prisms,"  before  I  open  the 
front  door,  to  keep  my  mouth  straight  during  the  promenade. 

Tnen,  too,  there's  sitting  up  for  people,  which  is  one  of  woman's 
chief  duties  after  she  is  married.  If  Pickles  was  sitting  up  for  me, 
and  I  didn't  come,  he  would  go  after  me.  I  can't  go  after  him.  I 
may  walk  the  floor,  and  wonder  whether  the  cars  have  collided,  or 
the  public  building  burnt  down,  or  whether  Pickles  has  been  at- 
tacked by  garroters  ;  but  I  mustn't  go  and  see. 

I  may  hear  howls  and  groans  at  the  corner,  and  I  daren't  go  out 
and  make  sure  that  nobody  is  demolishing  Pickles.  I  can  only  lis- 
ten at  the  keyhole,  or  peek  through  upstairs  shutters,  and  get  into 
a  fever.  I  often  tell  Pickles  that  if  he  were  suddenly  transformed 
into  a  woman,  he'd  know  all  about  it,  and  that  it  would  be  very 
like  being  put  into  jail  or  an  insane  asylum. 

Then  Pickles  tells  me  I  ought  to  be  satisfied  with  woman's  sphere, 
and  thinks  I  want  to  vote;  but  I  don't.  Pickles  misunderstands 
me. 


ES,  my  child,  we'll  send  out  a  great  many  invitations.  These 


five-o'clock  teas  are  just  the  thing  for  nobodies  that  we  don't 
ask  to  our  large  parties.  We  can  scatter  them  in  amongst  the 
others,  and  there's  no  need  of  introducing  them,  or  paying  them 
much  attention.    In  such  a  crowd  they  can't  expect  it,  you  know. 

Be  very  sure  you  don't  neglect  Mrs.  Fauxpas,  Kitty.  They  have 
two  footmen  behind  their  carriage  now,  and  your  pa  says  his  in- 
come is  ^e-mendous.    Oh,  yes,  I  know  what  your  Aunt  Barbara 


FASHIONABLE  HOSPITALITY. 


AND  RECITATIONS. 


93 


says  about  Mrs.  Fauxpas,  and  it's  true;  but  you  ought  to  be  more 
oJt  a  Christian  than  to  bring  up  such  stories  about  people  that  are 
spending  fifty  thousand  a  year,  at  the  least,  and  who  are  visited  by 
everybody.    You've  directed  a  card  to  her,  eh? 

What  ?  Ask  Fanny  Trix  ?  No,  of  course  not.  Didn't  some- 
body find  out  that  her  husband  had  a  first  wife  living,  and  she's 
come  back  to  stay  with  her  parents,  and  teaches  music  for  her  bread 
and  butter  !  Keally,  I  think  you  show  very  little  respect  for  me, 
to  wish  to  invite  people  who  have  lost  their  character.  Throw  that 
card  into  the  waste-basket.  Oh,  yes,  I  suppose  we  must  invite 
Cousin  Pink  and  his  wife.  I  wish  I  had  strength  of  mind  enough 
to  drop  such  people  out  and  out.  Oh,  yes,  I  know  Cousin  Pink  is 
good-natured,  and  that  his  wife  used  to  have  you  all  to  tea  and 
take  you  to  the  shows  before  your  pa  made  his  fortune;  but  you 
needn't  go  bellowing  that  fact  for  the  servants  to  hear.  Do  try  to 
get  Amanda  Pink  into  some  corner  where  no  one  will  see  her. 

All  the  B's,  of  course,  and  all  the  C's — lovely  people.  Have 
their  names  in  the  fashionable  notices  all  winter.  The  G's,  too,  as 
it  is  five-o'clock  tea,  and  your  pa  finds  them  useful. 

Oh,  we  mustn't  forget  Mr.  Gypsum.  Have  a  great  arm-chair 
saved  for  him:  he's  had  the  gout.  Kitty,  what  a  match  he  would 
be  for  you  !  Well,  I  know  they  say  he's  an  old  sinner;  but  have  you 
seen  that  lovely  double  house  of  his  on  the  avenue  ?  And  he'd 
leave  you  a  million  when  he  died.  Tipsy  every  night  ?  Now,  1 
only  call  it  exhilarated  in  a  fine  old  gentleman  like  that.  * 

You'll  try  to  save  a  chair  for  old  Dr.  Praygood,  eh,  because  he's 
had  rheumatism?  I'm  sure  it  can't  be  so  important  that  he  should 
stay  long  that  you  need  to  make  him  so  very  comfortable.  With 
his  talk  of  having  married  your  parents,  and  buried  your  grand- 
parents,  and  baptized  you — I  suppose  he  thinks  he'll  marry  you, 
too.  There  he's  very  much  mistaken.  I  mean  to  have  you  married 
in  a  splendid  church,  with  as  many  officiating  clergymen  as  I  can 
get,  and  the  most  stylish  bridesmaids  and  reporters  on  hand  to 
put  your  dress  and  presents,  and  the  names  of  the  fashionable  and 
distinguished  people  present,  in  next  day's  papers.  Dr.  Praygood, 
indeed,  in  his  poky  old  box  !    And  I  suppose  Mrs.  Praygood  must 


94 


WERNER'S  READINGS 


come  too.  Grandma  loved  her  so,  eh  ?  "Well,  your  poor  grandma* 
always  did  seem  to  love  nobodies  most.  Oh,  we  must  have  the  Rev. 
Simper  Softly;  he's  so  sweet.  Everybody  asks  him,  and  a  nice 
clergyman  is  always  so  nice  to  have.  No,  he  did  not  poison  the 
uncle  from  whom  he  gets  all  his  money.  That  was  calumny.  Not 
one  of  his  congregation  believed  it,  and  they  all  feel  very  sure  that 
ke  bought  the  arsenic  for  rats.    He  said  so. 

And  now  see  here,  Kitty:  you  needn't  worry  if  Napoleon  does 
forget  to  wait  on  old  Mr.  Praygood,  and  your  Mrs.  Pink,  and  Aunt 
Barbara,  and  the  rest  of  that  sort.  He's  an  invaluable  waiter — 
knows  every  one — will  be  sure  to  take  care  of  all  the  distinguished 
people,  and  no  matter  about  the  rest.  Pretend  not  to  notice.  If 
they  never  come  again,  so  much  the  better. 


MY  SWEETHEART'S  BABY  BROTHER. 


FELL  in  love  with  Arabella  Appleby  when  I  was  very  young. 


There  was  a  great  tribe  of  young  Applebys,  and  Arabella  had, 
as  eldest  sister,  a  miraculous  number  of  household  cares  in  conse- 
quence. Her  principal  one  was  Bob,  a  youngster  in  short  panta- 
loons, who  was  the  very  imp  of  mischief,  but  whom  she  adored,  be- 
lieving him,  as  did  the  rest  of  the  family,  to  be  a  most  remarkable 
boy.  I  had  been  courting  Arabella  for  a  year,  but  had  never  yet 
found  a  moment  in  which  to  pop  the  question  because  of  this 
dreadful  Bob. 

I  admit  that  I  did  curry  favor  with  the  family  by  praising  Bob, 
but  to  tell  the  truth,  I  detested  him.  And  now  there  had  begun 
to  call  upon  Arabella  a  light-haired  young  doctor,  evidently  favored 
by  papa,  and  I  resolved  to  speak  or  die.  I  knew  Bob's  great  long- 
ing for  fire-crackers.  I  would  buy  him  some.  1  would  lead  him 
and  Arabella  to  some  sequestered  nook,  and  amidst  the  cracks  and 
explosions  ask  her  to  be  mine. 

With  two  pounds  of  cream  candy  in  one  pocket,  and  a  packet  of 
Chinese  crackers  in  the  other,  I  proceeded,  one  afternoon,  to  the 
Appleby  mansion,  and  asked  for  Bob. 


AND  RECITATIONS. 


95 


"  Bob  is  in  the  garden,"  said  Mrs.  Appleby.  "  Arabella  is  try- 
ing to  persuade  him  to  take  the  kittens  out*of  the  tin  pail.  He's 
selling  them  for  clams  (with  the  cover  on,  you  know),  and  she's 
afraid  the  poor  little  things  will  be  smothered." 

At  this  instant  the  air  was  rent  with  shrieks. 

"  She's  taken  'em  out,  poor  child/'  said  mamma.  "  Perhaps  I'd 
best  go  and  see  what  I  can  do  with  him." 

"I'll  go,"  said  I.  "I  have  some  candy.  I  think  I  can  console 
him." 

He  was  in  the  summer-house,  beating  my  Arabella  with  both  his 
fists,  while  she  held  in  her  lap  a  party  of  very  young  and  skinny 
kittens,  that  had  evidently  not  been  rescued  from  the  tin  can  a 
moment  too  soon. 

"  Good  afternoon,  Miss  Arabella,"  said  I.  "  Why,  Bobby,  what's 
the  matter?  Come  here  and  see  what  I've  got  for  you."  And  I 
produced  a  portion  of  the  candy. 

Bobby  stopped  yelling.  He  came  toward  me,  and  extended  his 
paw  for  the  candy. 

"Let  us  take  him  down  to  the  grove,  Miss  Arabella,"  said  I. 
"A  sort  of  change  of  scene  for  him;  and  I  want  him  to  say  his  last 
new  piece — '  Charge  of  the  Light  Brigade,'  you  know.  It's  really 
wonderful  for  so  young  a  child." 

"  Oh!  indeed  it  is,  Mr.  Rawdon,"said  Arabella.    "  Come,  Bobby." 

There  we  were  in  the  grove;  the  trees  encompassed  us;  the  grass 
was  green,  the  skies  were  blue,  the  breeze  delightful.  'Now,  if  I 
could  quiet  Bob,  I  could  "tell  my  tale." 

"Now,  Bobby,"  said  I,  "let's  have  the  piece,  and  then  I'll  give 
you  something  nice." 

"  Say  it,  Bobby,"  said  Arabella. 

"No,"  said  Bobby. 

"Well,  no  matter,"  saici  I.    "It  isn't  right  to  overtax  his  fine 
mind,  Miss  Arabella.    I'll  wait  until  he's  ready.    Here  is  the  candy, 
Bobby,  and  here  is  something  else." 
"  0  Mr.  Bawdon !"  cried  Arabella.    "  What  would  mamma  say  \" 
"They  are  perfectly  harmless,"  said  J:  "why  not  let  me  teach 
him  how  to  use  them  ?    Poor  child !  he  has  longed  for  them  so." 


96 


WERNER'S  READINGS 


"I  know  it/'  said  Arabella.    "  Now  do  be  careful.   Oh! — ah!" 
"Hold  it  so,  Bobby,"  I  said,  "and  hold  this  so,  and  light  this 
thread,  then  off  it  goes." 

Whack!  smack!  crack!  went  the  cracker. 

" Hurray !" yelled  Bob,  in  great  glee.    "Lenime  fire  'emmyse'f." 

Just  what  I  wanted.    Off  went  the  crackers. 

"Isn't  he  cunning!"  cried  Arabella.  "  Oh,  I've  a  good  mind  to 
go  and  call  mamma  to  see  him !" 

"She'd  be  nervous,"  said  I.  "Miss  Arabella,  I  have  for  along 
time  been  very  anxious  to—" 

"  Oo,  tome  fire  off  my  clackers,"  said  Bobby  at  this  instant. 

"  Fire  them  off  yourself,  like  a  man,"  said  I. 

"  I  ain't  a  man,"  cried  Bobby.  "  No  such  a  sing,"  and  he  be- 
gan to  yell. 

"  He's  sister's  treasure,"  said  Arabella.  "  Please,  Mr.  Rawdon, 
fire  off  one  for  him." 

I  fired  a  dozen.    Then  Bob's  mood  changed. 

"Fire  'em  myse'f,"  he  remarked,  and  disappeared  behind  the 
bench.    I  began  again : 

"  Miss  Arabella,  I  have  waited  to  say  what  I  now  have  to  say, 
until  my  heart  is  almost  bursting.  I  do  not  dare  to  flatter  myself 
that  my  sentiments  are  reciprocated;  but  you  must  have  seen — " 

Whack!  whack!  smack!  crack! 

Arabella  started  away  with  a  scream. 

That  imp  of  darkness  had  pinned  a  pack  to  my  coat-tails,  and 
set  them  off. 

"Oh,  naughty,  naughty  Bob!  Oh,  how  it  has  scorched  your 
nice,  new  coat!"  said  Arabella.  "  Bob,  what  a  naughty  boy;  but  it 
was  cunning,  too  ;  wasn't  it?"  she  added. 

Bob,  in  the  greatest  glee,  betook  himself,  at  my  suggestion,  to 
a  tree  at  some  distance  with  his  candy  and  crackers,  and  I,  in  my 
scorched  coat,  sat  down  beside  Arabella. 

"  Arabella,"  I  began,  "  may  I  call  you  so  ?    My  existence — " 

"Oh,  oh,  o-oo-o-h!"  yelled  Bob;  "oh,  oh,  oh  !" 

"My  darling  !"  cried  Arabella.    " Oh,  what  is  it ?" 

"He  bit  me!"  cried  Bob. 


AND  RECITATIONS. 


97 


"What  bit  you?"  said  Arabella.  "Not  a  dog?  Ob,  it  may 
liave  been  mad,  Mr.  Eawdon." 

"  There's  no  dog  here,"  I  said,  a  little  sulkily. 

"  A  bird  bit  me,"  said  Bob,  and  held  up  a  paw. 

Some  wasp,  attracted  by  the  candy,  had  stung  him.  But  Ara- 
bella had  some  hartshorn;  the  sting  was  touched  with  it,  the  pain 
alleviated.  Bob  was  dismissed.  I  sat  down  on  the  rustic  seat  and 
began  again: 

"  There  are  moments  in  a  man's  life,  Arabella,  when — " 

"  He's  killed  himself  this  time,"  said  Arabella. 

I  myself  thought  he  had.  We  rushed  to  Bob's  side;  he  was 
howling,  kicking,  strangling,  and  shrieking  all  together.  His 
mouth  was  full  of  red  paper,  and  when  I  had  pried  it  out  with  my 
finger,  he  delivered  himself  of  this  account  of  his  mishap: 

"  I  eat  a  clacker  and  fired -off  a  tandy." 

"  He'll  die,"  said  Arabella. 

"  No,"  said  I,  "  he  did  not  swallow  it.  I've  got  it  all  out.  See! 
Now  we'll  give  him  a  drink  of  water  and  he'll  be  all  right." 

I  led  the  way  to  a  well,  made  a  cup  of  a  leaf,  gave  Bob  a  drink, 
and  seated  him,  with  his  candy  on  one  side  and  the  crackers  on  the 
other,  amidst  the  grass.  Then  I  took  Arabella's  hand  in  mine  and 
led  her  away  for  a  few  steps. 

"  Arabella,"  I  said, "  I  am  about  to  ask  you  a  question  to  which  the 
answer  must  be  'yes'  or  'no/    If  'yes,'  I  shall  be  the  happiest — " 

There  was  an  awful  splash  in  the  well.  Bob  was  nowhere  to  be 
seen. 

"  He's  down  the  well,"  screamed  Arabella. 

I  rushed  to  its  side;  the  water  was  agitated;  but  Bob's  form  was 
not  visible.  I  caught  the  chain  and  let  myself  down.  In  a  mo- 
ment I  was  wet  to  the  skin;  but  I  caught  something  that  scrabbled 
and  scratched  me  with  a  sharp  claw.  I  knew  that  Bob  had  thrown 
puss  in,  but  I  had  tiot  the  inhumanity  to  leave  her.  Out  I  came, 
dripping  with  water  and  gore,  satisfied  that  it  was  easier  to  go  down 
into  a  well  than  to  get  out.  Arabella  stood  with  a  serious  coun- 
tenance and  tried  to  help  me  out,  and  nearly  pushed  me  in  by  an 
unscientific  feminine  grab  at  my  coat. 


98 


WERNERS  READINGS 


"  Bob  said  '  peep  bo  '  to  me  just  as  you  jumped  in.  I  found  him 
behind  the  currant  bushes.  I'm  afraid  he  threw  poor  pussy  in. 
Are  you  very  wet,  Mr.  Eawdon  ?" 

The  cat,  whom  I  was  holding  tight,  dug  her  talons  into  me  at  this 
juncture. 

"Hang  the  brat!    I  wonder  what  he'll  do  next/'  said  I,  shiver- 
ing and  stinging.    "  Was  such  an  imp  ever  born  ?" 
Arabella  drew  herself  up. 

"  Mr.  Eawdon,"  said  she,  "  I  could  not  fail  to  understand  what 
you  did  me  the  honor  to  imply  a  while  ago.  More  on  the  subject  I 
will  never  allow  myself  to  listen  to  from  one  who  entertains  such 
sentiments  toward  my  darling  little  brother;"  and  she  sailed  away, 
allowing  me  to  depart  as  I  pleased.  I  did  not  remain  in  the  grove 
long,  and  I  never  called  on  Arabella  again. 

She  has  married  the  light-haired  doctor  since,  but  my  envy  of  his 
happiness  was  not  overwhelming;  for  when  they  went  upon  their 
bridal  tour  I  saw  a  third  party  in  the  carriage.    It  was  Bob. 


TWO  OPINIONS  OF  ONE  HOUSE. 

THE  LANDLORD'S  OPINION". 

A  SPLENDID  house  !  The  greatest  bargain  in  the  city.  Used 
to  let  for  five  hundred  dollars  more  a  year.  In  perfect  order. 
Don't  know  why  I  was  such  a  fool  as  to  let  it  go  at  that  rent. 
Never  ought  to  have  let  it  at  all.  Tenants  are  such  destructive 
creatures.  All  they  are  willing  to  pay — stingy  wretches — doesn't 
cover  their  wear  and  tear.  They  scratch  the  paper  off,  ruin  the 
paint,  hang  their  ridiculous  portraits  on  the  walls  on  nails,  knock 
the  ceilings  down,  pull  the  locks  off,  lose  the  keys,  break  the  bell 
wires.  Have  a  lot  of  children  about.  Smoke  everything  with 
their  cooking.  Have  company  tramping  up  tTie  steps,  wearing  the 
very  stones  out.  All  alike,  tenants  are  ;  if  they  don't  do  one  thing 
to  destroy  a  body's  house  they  do  another.  Some  man  or  other 
had  had  a  pipe  in  the  dining-room  last  time  I  was  there.  No  house 
can  stand  such  things.    And  now  they  want  me  to  repair  it.  Not 


AND  RECITATIONS. 


99 


I.  Not  a  penny-worth  of  repairs  will  I  do  ;  and  what  is  more,  they 
shall  either  raise  their  rent  this  May  or  move.  On  that  I'm  de- 
termined. 

tenant's  opikiok. 
Such  a  hole  !  a  perfect  barn  !  The  dearest  rent  in  New  York. 
You  see,  Mr.  B  is  never  good  at  a  bargain,  and  the  landlady  saw 
his  weakness  and  charged  him  a  rent  no  one  else  would  have  paid; 
and  everything  needs  repair.  Ceilings  cracked,  locks  off,  range 
won't  .bake,  furnace  won't  burn.  Such  horrid  Avails  that  we  have 
to  cover  them  all  up  with  pictures  and  brackets  and  things.  Land- 
ladies are  such  stingy  creatures  !  It  seems  to  make  a  woman  mean 
to  own  a  house  !  There  isn't  a  handle  on  any  door  nor  a  key  to  a 
single  pantry,  and  we've  mended  the  door-bell  fifteen  times.  I'm 
just  wretched.  I  don't  seem  to  take  any  comfort  in  fixing  up. 
It  doesn't  pay.  If  she'd  be  just  a  little  reasonable  about  repairs 
we'd  do  our  share.  And  we're  the  best  tenants — so  prompt  and 
so  quiet.  Only  three  dear,  sweet,  cunning  little  children — perfect 
angels.  And  I  am  a  good  housekeeper  ;  and  Mr.  B  is  so  domestic  ; 
his  greatest  dissipation  is  to  smoke  a  pipe  with  a  friend  or  two 
over  a  glass  of  ,  beer  of  an  evening.  But  I've  made  up  my  mind  : 
either  the  rent  must  be  reduced  this  year  or  we  move. 


A  FRIGHTENED  WOMAN.  1/ 

T3REAKFAST,  Mr.  A  ?  No.  I  have  cooked  none.  I  couldn't 
light  a  fire  without  matches  ;  and  what  did  I  read  about  the 
effect  of  inhaling  a  lucifer  match  ?  Well,  you  needn't  laugh.  You 
know  I  don't  mean  the  match,  but  the  fume  that  rises  from  it.  I'll 
never  have  a  match  in  my  house  again — never! 

Don't  put  on  your  hat.  You  must  not  go  down  town  to-day,  Mr. 
A.  The  papers  say  it  is  only  a  question  of  time  when  that  awful 
accident  will  happen  on  the  elevated  road  ;  and  if  it  does  happen, 
I'd  rather -be  there  than  in  the  horse-cars  below,  I  assure  you.  I 
call  it  flying  in  the  face  of  Providence  to  take  any  cars. 

I  "look  sleepy,"  do  I  ?    Well,  I  am  sleepy.    I  never  closed  an 


100 


WERNER'S  READINGS 


eye  all  night.  I  shall  never  sleep  again.  Night  is  the  time  for 
burglars.  I  read  that  account  of  the  whole  family  tied  to  bed- 
posts and  beaten  to  death  for  the  sake  of  the  silver  and  jewelry  ! 
Am  I  to  sleep  and  let  my  children  be  murdered  ? 

Oh  !  I  can  see  you  smile,  but  you  may  do  it.  "  Give  you  some 
cold  meat  and  bread,  then?"  No  ;  a  gentleman  was  choked  only 
last  night  by  a  morsel  of  meat  and  bread  swallowed  hastily.  As 
for  cooking  anything,  there  was  a  lady  set  fire  to  her  apron  at 
the  range,  and  was  burned  to  death,  not  four  blocks  away  from 
here.  Mr.  A,  put  down  that  razor  !  I  can't  see  you  shave.  Only 
last  Friday  a  gentleman  who  was  shaving  went  out  of  his  mind,  and 
cut  his  wife's  throat,  and  then  his  own. 

No,  children,  you  cannot  go  to  school  to-day.  There  was  little 
Lizzie  Picklebury  kidnapped  in  Indiana,  and  never  found  for  four- 
teen weeks  !  No,  out  of  my  sight  you  can't  go,  so  there  now.  And 
stop  cutting  those  patches,  Selina.  I  read  of  a  little  girl  who  put 
her  eyes  out  with  a  sharp  pair  of  scissors  not  long  ago.  The  poor 
little  child  is  blind  now. 

Lulu  Arabella,  while  I  think  of  it,  I  forbid  your  going  to  that 
party  with  Mr.  Smith.  How  do  you  know  but  he  may  be  a  burg- 
lar in  disguise  ?  Oh,  yes,  I  know  we  think  we  know  all  about  him ; 
but  read  that  account  of  two  respectable  young  men  who  taught 
Sabbath-school  classes  and  all,  who  turned  out  to  be  members  of  a 
great  company  of  burglars.  Don't  tell  me  !  Not  another  word. 
And  never  go  out  of  an  evening  with  Mr.  Smith.  He  may  have 
been  paying  attention  to  another  young  lady,  and  she  might  throw 
vitriol  in  your  face  and  scar  you  awfully  for  life!  What  !  "  Highly 
improbable  ?"  Do  you  think  so  ?  Eeacl  the  papers,  then.  There 
were  two  cases  of  vitriol  throwing  yesterday. 

What  do  you  say,  Mr.  A?  e(  I've  gone  delirious,  and  you  are  go- 
ing for  the  doctor  ?"  No,  you  needn't  ;  I've  carried  the  joke  far 
enough.  Bridget  has  breakfast  ready,  and  I  don't  mean  a  thing  I 
said;  but  you  advised  me .  yesterday  to  read  the  newspapers  and 
improve  my  mind,  and  I  read  them  all  through  while  I  -was  sitting 
up  for  you  last  night ;  and  you  can  see  what  the  effect  would  be  on 
my  mind  if  I  should  go  on  doing  that  every  night. 


AND  RECITATIONS. 


101 


IN  AMITY  OF  SOUL. 


"  In  amity  of  soul  . 
Let  Christians  dwell  together, 


And  without  strife 


Live  out  this  life, 
And  each  befriend  his  brother." 


HAT'S  our  choir  singing  ;   Dr.  Dodd  is  the  basso,  Mr.  Potts 


A  is  the  tenor,  Miss  Lott  the  soprano,  and  Miss  Miller  the  alto. 
You  think  their  singing  sounds  like  that  of  angels?  Well,  so  it 
does,  my  dear  ;  it  brings  the  tears  to  my  eyes.  "And  each  be- 
friend his  brother."  How  beautifully  deep  Dr.  Dodd's  voice  is  in 
that.  He's  been  trying  to  get  Mr.  Potts  out  of  his  place  for  six 
months,  ever  since  some  one  said  that  Potts  sings  better  than  he 
does — which  is  the  fact,  too.  Poor  Mr.  Potts  supports  a  widowed 
mother  and  a  sick  sister,  and  he  needs  his  salary ;  but  they  say 
that  Dr.  Dodd  will  get  him  out  soon,  and  that  rich  Mr.  Humble- 
bee  will  sing  in  his  place. 

"  In  am-i-ty  of  soul."  What  a  sweet  voice  Mr.  Potts  has  !  and 
how  he  hates  Miss  Miller.  They  quarrel  behind  the  blue  silk  cur- 
tain all  sermon  time,  and  if  she  can  do  anything  spiteful  to  him 
she  does  it.  You  see,  he  pays  more  attention  to  Miss  Lott  than  he 
does  to  her — naturally  so,  for  I  believe ^they  are  engaged. 

"In  amity  of  soul  let  Christians  dwell  together."  How  sweet 
that  sounds  !  That's  Miss  Miller's  voice.  She  often  says  she  could 
poison  Dr.  Dodd.  She  stood  on  his  toe  Easter  Sunday  on  purpose 
— the  foot  with  the  corns  on  it.  She  glories  in  it,  and  says  she  en- 
joyed seeing  him  squirm.  But  she  apologized  beautifully  before 
the  minister.  She  said  the  heavenly  words  and  music  made  her 
forget  all  else  ;  and  the  minister — good  man — remonstrated  with 
Dr.  Dodd  when  he  declared  he  didn't  believe  her. 

There's  Miss  Miller  again:  "Let  Christians  dwell  together." 
Her  enunciation  is  so  perfect.  They  say  she  brings  her  two  young 
lady  cousins  into  the  choir  seats  every  Sunday  to  make. fun  of  poor 
Miss  Lott.    Sometimes  it's  her  voice,  sometimes  her  bonnet  that 


102 


WERNER'S  READINGS 


they  ridicule  ;  and  Miss  Lott  says  she  shall  box  their  ears  some  fine 
Sunday. 

Do  you  think  our  organist  fine  ?  I  do,  though  I'm  no  musician. 
But  Dr.  Dodd  says  he's  never  right,  and  lie  says  that  Dr.  Dodd  is 
always  flat,  and  that  as  for  Mr.  Potts,  if  he  makes  any  more  satirical 
remarks  about  the  monkey  being  before  the  organ,  and  not  on  ic, 
he  shall  pull  his  nose  on  the  gallery  stairs  some  day. 

Oh,  do  hear  them  in  the  last  chorus  ! 

"  In  amity  of  soul,"  etc. 


MIAOULETTA. 


HER  fur  was  whiter  than  the  falling 
snow, 

Her  pretty  nose  was  pinker  than  the 
rose; 

Castilian  blondes  have  emerald  eyes,  you 
know, 

And  Miaouletta's  orbs  were  like  to 
those. 

'Her  black  frisette  was  parted  on  her 
head, 

Like  some  young  nun's  beneath  her  coif  and  band; 
Supple  her  form  and  delicate  her  tread 

And  soft  her  paw  within  a  friendly  hand. 
But  in  the  midnight  cruel  was  her  shriek, 
And  swift  and  sharp  her  claw  when  mice  were  heard  to  squeak. 


Her  home  was  in  a  great  Parisian  house, 
Let  out  in  flats  according  to  the  mode. 

Au  Premiere  dwelt  the  German  Baron  Krouse, 
Au  Seconde  Madame  Marabout  abode; 


AND  RECITATIONS. 


103 


Nine  merry  students  dwelt  au  Troisieme, 

Sung  their  wild  songs,  smoked  pipe  and  cigarette, 

Blew  kisses  to  the  dame  au  Quatrieme, 
Who,  at  her  window,  fed  her  paroquet; 

And  in  the  garret,  under  bare,  brown  beams, 

A  poor  young  painter  dwelt  and  gave  the  world  his  dreams. 

Often  when  crimson  grew  the  evening  sky, 

Turning  the  garret  window-panes  to  gold, 
Fair  Miaouletta  with  a  little  cry 

Crept  softly  meath  the  portiere's  dusky  fold, 
Sprang  with  a  purr  upon  the  painter's  knee, 

With  her  smooth  head  caressed  his  beard  of  gold 
Until  she  bade  his  pretty  fancies  flee 

And  his  eyes  drop  her  bright  eyes  to  behold; 
For  Miaouletta's  furry  feline  breast 
By  a  grand  passion  had,  alas  !  become  possessed. 

Often  her  mistress,  the  dame  Marabout, 

Had  said:  "Thou  shouldst  have  been  a  demoiselle, 
My  pretty  cat;  thou  wouldst  have  lovers  true, 

And  with  a  dot  be  sure  to  marry  well; 
For  of  all  girls  I  know  are  none  so  fair, 

So  graceful  and  with  such  a  dainty  tread, 
None  have  such  neatly-parted  coal-black  hair 

As  thou  hast  on  thy  pretty  little  head." 
"  Ah  !  would  I  were  a  girl,"  poor  pussy  sighed; 
"  And  that  my  painter  wooed  me  for  his  bride." 

Far  beyond  Paris,  where  the  maple  trees 

Made  a  deep  shadow7  round  an  old  chateau, 
Near  which  the  frightened  peasant  nightly  sees 

A  hideous  spectre  wander  to  and  fro — 
A  place  deserted  save  by  newt  and  toad, 

Where  empty  windows,  darkly  looking  down 
Upon  the  long  white  ribbon  of  a  road 

That  winds  so  dustily  from  town  to  town, 


104 


WERNERS  READINGS 


Seem  fitting  frames  whence  demon  heads  should  peep, — 
The  wishing- well  lies  cool  and  dark  and  deep. 

And  whoso  may  prove  brave  enough  its  side 

To  seek  at  midnight  when  the  moon  is  bright, 
And  there  beside  its  margin  to  abide 

The  while  such  things  as  haunt  it  are  in  sight — 
Elves,  fairies,  goblins,  imps,  a  headless  ghost — 

Showing  no  terror,  uttering  no  cry, 
May,  after,  ask  the  thing  he  wishes  most 

Of  the  crowned  queen  of.  all  this  motley  fry. 
This  tale  to  Miaouletfca  had  been  told 
On  firelit  winter  eves  by  many  a  grand  dame  old. 

And  in  the  night,  when  all  with  pillowed  heads 

Rested,  the  city  lying  at  her  feet, 
Poor  Miaouletta  mounted  to  the  leads 

And  to  the  stars  her  story  did  repeat: 
"Oh,  would  I  were  a  maiden  fair  and  young  ! 

Oh,  would  I  were  a  lovely  demoiselle, 
Fairer  than  any  poet  ever  sung, 

That  he  I  love  his  love  to  me  might  tell  I" 
Then  sudden  of  the  wishing- well  thought  she, 
And  cried:  " Fll  risk  my  life  no  more  a  cat  to  be  !" 

Over  the  roofs  of  Paris  the  moon  lies, 

A  disk  of  silver  set  about  with  stars; 
Ghostly  the  spires  point  upward  to  the  skies, 

And  red  on  the  horizon  riseth  Mars. 
Still  is  the  night,  save  when  the  tipsy  lurch 

Of  some  late  reveller  its  silence  breaks, 
Or  in  the  miser's  garden  near  the  church 

Grimly  his  cruel  watch-dog  growls  and  wakes. 
Over  the  roofs  a  slim,  swift  shadow  fleets: 
'Tis  Miaouletta  as  fast  she  flies  along  the  streets  ! 


AND  RECITATIONS. 


And  now  behind  her  lies  her  city  home, 

Her  feet  are  set  upon  the  country  road; 
They  sink  bemired  in  the  new  ploughed  loam, 

Skirt  the  rough  fence  of  many  a  small  abode; 
Thorns  tear  her  fur,  the  thistles  pierce  her  skin, 

She  skirts  damp  marshes  that  be  mire  herfeet, 
And,  unaccustomed  to  the  country  din, 

She  trembles  at  the  penned  lamb's  harmless  bleat, 
And  fears  the  cricket  in  its  merriest  mood, 
And  dreads  the  hooting  owl  within  the  chestnut  wood. 

Breathless  she  nears  at  last  the  wishing-well, 

Just  as  the  clock  within  the  steeple  high 
Drops  on  the  village  roofs  its  silver  knell 

For  twelve  sad  hours  that  have  been  doomed  to  die. 
It  is  the  time  for  sheeted  ghosts  to  rise, 

For  fays  to  frolic  and  for  imps  to  dance; 
Poor  Miaouletta  turns  toward  the  skies, 

Where  huntress  Dian  reigns,  a  timid  glance, 
And,  springing  to  the  damp  well's  mossy  brink, 
Crouches  and  shivers  there  and  does  not  dare  to  think. 

They  come — the  fearful  things  that  haunt  the  spot; 

Words  cannot  paint  them  hideous  as^hey  are: 
Witches  on  brooms,  a  crook'd,  uncanny  lot; 

Twelve  imps  from  Hades  soaked  in  blazing  tar; 
Nine  goblins  driving  each  a  chariot  skull 

Drawn  by  nine  new-born  babes  who  sob  for  rest; 
Demons  with  eyes  all  leaden,  dead,  and  dull; 

A  thing  with  fiery  orbs  set  in  its  breast. 
But  these  are  not  the  sights  that  most  affright 
White  Miaouletta  on  this  hideous,  grewsome  night. 

For  all  the  elfin  hunt  is  up  and  out, 

Horses  and  hounds  and  huntsmen  are  in  view; 

The  winding  horn,  leads  on  the  cruel  rout, 
The  dogs'  deep  bay  awakes  the  view  halloo. 


106 


WERNER'S  READINGS 


And  still  from  dimmest  depths  of  elfin  wood 
The  wild  cries  of  the  chase  continual  swell; 

The  furious  rout  comes  nearer,  rood  by  rood, 
Until  it  circles  round  the  fairy  well, 

And  each  dog  lifts  his  eyes  toward  the  face 

Of  Miaouletta,  who  moves  never  from  her  place. 

And  Miaouletta's  trial  hour  is  passed. 

The  ghosts  are  gone,  the  fairy  huntsmen  fled, 
And  in  the  still  dark  night  she  sits  at  last 

And  sees  a  black  bat  circle  round  her  head, 
Settle  upon  the  weir's  cool -brink,  and  then 

Change  to  a  dainty,  delicate  young  thing, 
Fairy  in  size — a  goddess  in  her  air; 

Her  robe  a  spider's  web,  a  moth's  her  wing, 
Who  on  a  glittering  wand  does  lightly  lean, 
And  Miaouletta  knows  it  is  the  fairy  queen. 

"  Speak  not,"  the  fairy  cries,  "  thou  hast  no  need. 

My  dainty  ear  thy  wordless  hope  hath  caught; 
And  since  thy  love  hath  made  thee  brave  indeed, 

Thou  hast  the  wish  that  hither  thee  hast  brought. 
Beneath  this  wand  grow  tall  and  fair  and  sweet 

As  any  gentle  lady  ii!"  the  land, 
All  satin  smooth  thy  skin  from  brow  to  feet, 

Rosy  thy  lips  and  creamy  white  thy  hand; 
Lovely  as  Venus  rising  from  the  sea, 
Rise,  Miaouletta,  Love's  and  Beauty's  queen  to  be  V 

Shivering  and  white  she  stood  amidst  the  dew, 

Fearing  her  joy;  and  still  the  fairy  wand 
Waved  slowly  on.    The  haunted  old  chateau 

Its  ancient  splendor  in  a  trice  had  donned: 
The  silken  curtains  draped  the  window-panes; 

Soft  carpets  spread  once  more  across  the  floors; 
Flowers  blossomed  in  the  garden  beds  again, 

And  liveried  menials  threw  wide  the  doors, 


AND  RECITATIONS. 


And  handmaids  clustering  round  the  new-born  dame 
Dressed  her  in  silken  robes  that  from  the  Orient  came. 

"  One  warning  word/'  the  fair  enchantress  cries. 

" Before  I  leave  thee  I  have  made  so  fair: 
A  wish  hath  made  thee  and  a  wish  can  mar; 

Remember  this,  remember,  and  beware  !" 
Then  she  was  gone;  and  Miaouletta,  bid 

To  gaze  upon  a  mirror,  joyous  cried: 
u  Can  this  be  she  who  late  though  often  chid 

Unto  her  lady's  toilet  table  hied 
And,  horror-stricken,  saw  the  head  so  flat, 
The  grizzled  whiskers  of  a  green-eyed,  white-backed  cat 

A  countess  to  the  painter's  garret  hies, 

The  countess  Miaouletta,  young  and  sweet. 
She  smiles  upon  him  with  her  azure  eyes, 

Unbinds  the  hair  that  drops  to  kiss  her  feet. 
She  poses  with  an  antique  statue's  grace, 

And  bids  him  paint  her  with  the  truest  art; 
And,  Avorshipping  the  beauty  of  her  face, 

From  out  his  keeping  slips  the  painter's  heart, 
And  in  that  attic  studio  is  told 
The  tale  forever  new  though  still  as  Eden  old. 

The  wedding  morning  dawns;  the  feast  is  spread 

Within  the  old  chateau,  a  palace  now. 
The  priest  has  laid  his  blessing  on  each  head, 

The  orange-flowers  deck  Miaouletta's  brow. 
In  the  bride's  place  she  sits,  while  all  the  host 

Of  liveried  servants  fill  each  sparkling  glass 
With  rare  old  wine,  and  she  is  made  the  toast, 

And  on  from  lip  to  lip  her  praises  pass. 
They  whisper  as  the  bridal  paeans  ring, 
The  sun  ne'er  shone  upon  so  beautiful  a  thing. 


108 


WERNER'S  READINGS 


Sudden  a  cry  !    The  ladies  start  and  cling 

Each  to  her  lord;  one  screams  and  swoons  away; 
They  are  affrighted  by  a  dreadful  thing  ! 

A  little  mouse,  small,  smooth,  and  very  gray, 
Of  the  chateau  an  old  habitue, 

Smelling  the  banquet,  has  crept  from  his  hole 
And  to  the  widespread  table  made  his  way, 

From  the  full  feast  to  ask  his  little  dole; 
And  quaint  and  comic  in  a  carven  bowl 
Gnaws  at  a  nut  and  sore  affrights  each  lady's  soul. 

"  A  mouse  !  a  mouse  V    Uprises  at  the  cry 

The  gentle  bride,  attired  in  wreath  and  veil — 
Rises  in  haste;  but  ah,  'tis  not  to  fly  ! 

Her  eyes  shine  brightly  and  her  lips  are  pale; 
She  joins  the  chase  with  cries  that  chill  the  blood 

Of  those  who  listen,  and  her  white  robes  sweep 
Over  the  stairs,  along  the  gorgeous  hall, 

Down  to  the  kitchen,  where  she  stoops  to  creep, 
And,  crouching,  clutches  with  her  white-gloved  hand 
The  hapless  mouse,  while  all  in  fear  around  her  stand. 

Now  for  a  moment  she  has  let  it  go, 

And  now,  with  wanton  triumph,  claws  it  back. 
She  pats  it,  cuddles  it  her  veil  below, 

Plays  with  it  with  a  curious  feline  knack, 
While  the  young  bridegroom,  flushed  with  anxious  shame, 

Whispers  that  this  is  but  an  ill-timed  jest; 
Strives  from  the  floor  to  lift  his  lovely  dame. 

And  "  Is  she  mad  ?"  whispers  each  wedding-guest, 
While  Miaouletta  doth  these  words  repeat: 
"  Let  me  alone,  for  fain  this  sweet  mouse  would  I  eat." 

"  Cast  the  thing  down,  obey  me  V  wildly  cries 

The  painter,  deeming  he  himself  is  mad. 
But  she  looks  up  into  his  eyes  and  sighs 

And  answers,  and  her  voice  is  very  sad: 


AND  RECITATIONS. 


"  That  you  would  love  and  cherish  me  you  said; 

If  you  deny  me  little  things  like  that, 
And  prove  a  tyrant  on  the  day  we're  wed, 

I  wish  with  all  my  heart — I  were  a  cat  \" 
And  sudden  forward  fell  upon  her  face, 
Amidst  her  wedding-robes  of  snow-white  silk  and  lace. 

He  lifts  her  in  his  arms — but  what  betides  ! 

The  satin  robe  lies  empty  on  his  heart; 
The  wreath  that  crowned  the  loveliest  of  brides, 

The  veil,  the  coronet,  all  fall  apart. 
Bracelets  and  rings  lie  glittering  on  the  floor, 

The  zone,  unbuckled,  glitters  as  it  drops; 
Empty  the  slippers  lie  beside  the  door, 

And,  growling  even  as  she  licks  her  chops, 
A  white  cat  sits  and  eats  a  little  mouse 
Upon  the  desolate  hearth  of  the  enchanted  house. 


WHAT  THE  CRICKETS  SAID. 

\I OU  would  have  come  last  night  if  you  had  known 

How  close  I  watched  for  you 
Out  in  the  garden,  where  the  moonlight  shone 

'Midst  deepest  evening  blue. 
The  crickets'  voices  filled  the  air;  I  made 

Words  of  them,  these  were-  they  : 
"  He  comes  not  !  comes  not  !!  comes  not!!!  "  so  it  played; 

"  What  keeps,  keeps,  keeps  him  away?" 

We  were  so  sr&v  that  night :  the  others  came  ; 

The  hours  wore  winged  feet; 
Some  gracious  spirits  tuned  all  hearts  the  same, 

And  yet  'twas  incomplete, 
Because  you  came  not.  Twice  when  breezes  blew 

Leaf  shadows  o'er  the  floor, 
I  fancied,  out  of  hoping,  it  was  you, 

Your  shadow  at  the  door. 


110 


WERNER'S  READINGS 


He  sang,  our  Spaniard  with  the  woman's  smile; 

Our  sailor  told  his  tale ; 
And  in  the  spaces  of  the  interwhile 

Sweet  whispers  did  prevail. 
The  night  burnt  out  as  perfumed  censers  burn, 

And  all  was  at  its  best, 
When  drifts  of  dreamy  chat  came  in  their  turn 

To  follow  song  and  jest. 

And  I  took  all  my  little  role  of  mirth, 

And  played  it  fairly  through; 
Yet  when  cold  midnight  crossed  the  quiet  earth 

And  bade  me  say,  "  Adieu," 
I  from  my  pillow  heard  the  crickets'  cry, 

And  made  of  it  once  more  : 
"  He  came  not !  came  not ! !  came  not !!!"  just  as  I 

Had  made  "  comes  not  "  before. 


"N"  FOR  NANNIE  AND  "B"  FOR  BEN. 


"  1\T  "  For  Nannie  and  "  B  "  for  Ben  : 

I  see  them  now  as  I  saw  them  then, 
On  the  bark  of  the  oak-tree  wed. 
She  sat  waist-deep  in  the  clover  white, 
And  the  liquid  gold  of  the  June  sunlight 
Swept  over  her  sweet  young  head. 

And  I  stood  carving  the  letters  twain, 
That  time  and  tempest  have  all  in  vain 

Striven  to  blur  and  blot. 
They  live  in  the  oak-tree's  dusky  grain, 
Stamped  as  their  memory  on  my  brain, 

Changing  and  fading  not. 

Oh,  the  vows  that  I  vowed  that  day  ! 
Their  broken  shards  in  my  bosom  stay, 
"Wounding  it  hour  by  hour. 


AND  RECITATIONS. 


Could  I  be  false  to  one  so  true  ? 
Dared  I  be  cruel,  my  love,  to  you, 
Nannie,  my  lily  flower  ? 

Ere  the  snow  had  whitened  those  letters  twain, 
In  the  old  church  porch  you  hid  your  pain 

As  my  bride  and  I  passed  by. 
Your  eyes  were  brave,  but  your  cheek  grew  white. 
The  cheek  I  should  have  pillowed  that  night 

Where  it  never  now  may  lie. 

Little  Nannie,  you  are  at  rest, 

The  buttercups  growing  over  your  breast, 

Close  to  the  grave-yard  gate. 
But  ah  !  /live  to  rue  the  day 
Gold  tempted  my  steps  from  love  away, 

And  mine  is  the  sadder  fate. 

For  I'd  give  the  rest  of  my  life  to-night, 
To  see  you  sit  in  the  clover  white, 

The  sun  on  your  locks  of  gold, 
And  carve  once  more,  as  I  carved  them  then, 
"  N  "  for  Nannie  and  "  B  "  for  Ben, 

On  the  bark  of  the  oak-tree  old. 


"\  \  7  AS  it  a  dream  or  not, 

Love;  do  you  know  ? 
It  seems  so  long,  long,  long, 

Long,  long  ago, 
Counted  by  days  and  years 

Not  so  far  sped ; 
Counted  by  falling  tears, 
Long  ages  dead. 


A  DREAM. 


112 


WERNER'S  READINGS 


Our  boat  was  on  the  sea, 

And  Hope  sat  in  the  prow. 
"  Come,  dearest,  come," 

You  whispered,  all  aglow; 
"  Come,  love,  come, 

For  Hope  hath  trimmed  the  bark; 
Listen  to  her  promises: 

Hark,  love,  hark!" 

In  your  hand  my  hand  lay, 

So  you  led  me  there, 
Down  steps  that,  as  we  left  them, 

Melted  into  air. 
"  Fear  not,  lady  mine," 

So  you  whispered  sweet; 
"  Wish  we  to  retrace  the  steps 

Trodden  by  Love's  feet  ?" 

We  sat  within  our  bark, 

And  Hope  sang  through  sweet  hours, 
And  Love  lay  at  our  feet, 

Enchained  with  flowers; 
And  faded  fast  the  shore, 

White  mists  enwrapped  the  sea. 
What  did  I  see  but  you,  love  ? 

What  did  you  see  save  me  ? 

Our  boat  lay  'midst  the  mists: 

"  Hark,  love,  hark  ! 
Are  those  muffled  drums,  love, 

Beating  through  the  dark  ? 
Love  is  chained  with  cypress, 

Hope  is  growing  numb; 
Come  from  out  the  mists,  love, 

Come,  love,  come. 


AND  RECITATIONS. 


113 


"  Our  boat  was  on  the  sea, 

But  Death  sat  in  the  prow, 
And  Love  had  turned  to  tears, 

And  drowned  Hope  in  them  now. 
And  all  the  scene  lay  wrapped 

In  black  mists  brooding  low, 
But  it  was  not  all  a  dream,  love ; 

Ah,  no,  love,  no !" 


T_J  OW  splendid  is  the  Jewish  bride, 

High  crowned  with  rubies  like  a  queen, 
Her  crimson  lips,  her  velvet  eyes, 

Her  black  locks  with  their  satin  sheen, 
Miriam,  0  Miriam. 

The  jewelled  bosom's  fall  and  rise, 
The  jewelled  ear,  the  jewelled  arm, 

Thyself  the  fairest  gem  of  all, 

Smiling  and  glowing,  soft  and  warm, 
Miriam,  0  Miriam. 

His  visioned  dream  the  organ  breaks 
With  plaintive  rise  and  solemn  swell; 

Hark,  from  the  belfry's  lofty  place 
Peals  merrily  a  marriage  bell. 

Alas,  alas,  0  Miriam. 

And  in  the  painted  window's  light 

He  sees  his  bride,  Penelope : 
Pure  as  the  pearls  upon  her  brow, 

And  pale,  and  sweet,  and  proud  is  she, 
Penelope,  Penelope. 


AT  THE  ALTAR. 


WERNER'S  READINGS 


The  joy-bells  ring,  the  horses  prance, 

Fresh  flowers  are  flung  and  kerchiefs  fly; 

The  bridegroom  sits  as  in  a  trance, 
And  still  his  heart  repeats  its  cry, 

Miriam,  0  Miriam. 

Hadst  thou  defied  thy  kinsman's  ban, 
I  from  my  father's  curse  been  free, 

My  love  would  stand  where  now  she  stands, 
My  mother's  choice,  Penelope. 

Miriam,  0  Miriam. 


THE  OLD,  OLD  STORY. 


Sits  smiling  in  the  sun, 
Beside  her  on  the  old  stone  bench 

The  story-book  just  done  ; 
And  lurking  in  her  wine-brown  eyes 

A  story  just  begun, 
For  yonder,  pruning  apple  trees, 
Behold  the  farmer's  son  ! 

Slowly  adown  the  pathway 

The  pastor  comes  and  goes, 
And  settles  with  his  long,  lean  hand 

The  glasses  on  his  nose. 
Bore  ever  dry,  brown  branch  before 

So  beautiful  a  rose  ? 
Ah,  he  thinks  his' blossom  only  a  bud, 

Though  he  watches  it  as  it  blows. 

Is  it  the  story  of  Moses 

In  his  rush-wrapped  cradle  found, 
Or  of  Joseph  and  his  brethren, 

He  thinks  as  he  glances  round  ? 


HE  pastor's  little  daughter 


AND  RECITATIONS. 


115 


"You  have  finished  your  volume,  Amy, 
Is  it  something  Scriptural  and  sound  ?" 

And  his  little  daughter  blushes  and  starts, 
And  her  book  falls  to  the  ground. 

Go  on  with  your  walk,  good  pastor, 

You  do  not  yourself  deceive  ; 
It  has  been  a  Scriptural  story 

Since  Adam  first  kissed  Eve. 
And  never  blush,  little  lassie, 

The  tale  was  written  above  ; 
No  other  so  speaks  of  heaven 

As  the  old,  old  story  of  love. 


HER  HEART  WAS  FALSE  AND  MINE 
-^r  ^        WAS  BROKEN. 


"\  \  T"E  stood  upon  the  sea-girt  sand, 

And  gazed  upon  the  starlit  ocean, 
And  there  I  fondly  clasped  her  hand 

And  told  her  of  my  heart's  devotion. 
The  new  moon  from  the  summer  sky 

Saw  our  first  kiss — love's  sweetest  token; 
But  ere  another  moon  was  high 

Her  heart  was  false,  and  mine  was  broken. 

A  perfumed  note,  a  silken  glove, 

A  shadow  from  the  threshold  gliding — 
These  were  enough  to  banish  love 

That  I  had  fondly  deemed  abiding. 
Ah,  do,  not  bid  me  tell  thee  more, 

For  bitter  was  my  heart's  awaking; 
Enough  that  when  I  passed  the  door 

Her  heart  was  false,  and  mine  was  breaking. 


[Written  at  fifteen  years  of  age.] 


116 


WERNER'S  READINGS 


We  met  last  night  amidst  the  crowd; 

Her  beauty  every  voice  was  praising; 
And  while  my  heart  beat  fast  and  loud, 

Her  eyes  on  mine  were  calmly  gazing. 
Oh,  could  it  be  she  had  forgot 

The  tender  vows  that  she  had  spoken  ? 
Or  was  it  she  remembered  not 

Her  heart  was  false,  and  mine  was  broken  ? 


TO  A.  M.  OLAR. 

AN  OLD  MAN'S  MEMOEIES. 


T  T  was  o'er !   The  trust  I  cherished 
**•    All  too  soon  had  known  decay; 
Black  and  hollow  now  1  saw  thee, 
Thy  fair  surface  shorn  away. 

Yet  when  striving  to  uproot  thee, 
Then  I  suffered  deepest  woe; 

Bitter  pain  though  thou  hadst  given, 
Worse  it  was  to  feel  thee  go. 

When  I  knew  I  must  surrender 

Every  hold  I  had  on  thee, 
Thon,  alas  !  didst  seem  most  tender, 

Most  to  cling  and  cleave  to  me. 

Naught  can  ever  fill  the  place  whence 
Thou  for  aye  must  now  depart, 

I  should  only  find  another 
Even  falser  than  thou  art. 

Yet  will  aching  mem'ries  haunt  me 
Of  that  dentist  void  of  ruth, 

Who,  with  forceps  strong  and  cruel, 
Wrenched  thee  out,  lost  double  tooth' 


AND  RECITATIONS. 


BESSIE'S  DILEMMA. 

*HPHE  cows  in  the  farm-yard  know  me, 

Dapple,  and  Doll,  and  Dunn; 
And  when  at  the  garden-gate  I  stand, 

To  greet  me  the  watch-dogs  run. 
"  Everything  loves  you  here,"  said  he, 
And  I  knew  his  meaning.    Well,  ah  me! 

He  is  tall,  this  Western  farmer, 

His  hair  is  beech-nut  brown, 
Flecked  with  gold  in  the  sunlight : 

I  have  never  seen  him  Irown. 
te  I'm  sure  to  be  kind  to  my  wife,"  said  he. 
I  knew  why  he  said  it.   Oh,  dear  me! 

Apples  grow  in  his  orchard, 

Eed  and  russet  and  gold; 
You  would  think  snow  lay  in  the  meadow 

When  he  loosens  his  white  sheepfold. 
"  I  don't  know  a  better  dairy,"  said  he, 
u  Than  my  wife  will  boast  of."    Oh,  dear  me! 

One  could  dream  of  a  life  arcadian 

As  a  farmer's  wife,  I  think, 
When  the  cattle  stand  in  summer 

Mid-leg  in  the  brook  to  drink; 
And  the  strawberries  red  in  the  grass  I  see, 
And  the  birds  in  the  branches  sing  hymns  to  me. 

But  this  peach-cheeked,  blue-eyed  farmer,  ' 

Honest  and  good,  I  know, 
Could  he  live  out  a  pastoral  poem  ? 

Nothing  but  time  could  show. 
And  the  unloved,  lonely  wives  I  see 
Are  so  worn  and  pitiful!  Oh,  dear  me! 


WERNER'S  READINGS 


Do  any  men  love  forever? 

Do  any  men  have  time 
To  keep  wedding-bells  a-ringing 

Through  life  with  the  same  sweet  chime? 
Do  poets  live  up  to  their  dreams  that  you  see, 
Better  than  farmers  ?   Oh,  dear  me ! 


LOVE'S  REMINISCENCES, 


I. 

IN  that  enchanted  hour 
When  the  bee  drones  above  the  latest  flower 
That  opes  its  heart  to  take  him  to  its  breast 
Ere  home  he  flies  to  rest, 
When  the  last  moon's  pale  ghost 
Haunts  twilight's  ruddy  coast, 
Before  night's  sea  o'erwhelms  it  black  and  cold, 
And,  queen-like,  crowned  with  gold, 
This  eve's  moon  leads  her  host  of  silver  stars, 

I  think  of  you. 

It  is  the  hour  of  rest : 

Tired  Nature  drowses  on  Earth's  placid  breast; 
Home  to  their  nests  the  wandering  swallows  come 
The  cattle  cease  to  roam, 
And  patient  wait  beside  the  dairy  door ; 
And  I,  day's  dull  toil  o'er, 
Find  best  repose  of  heart  in  thoughts  of  you, 
Sweet  thoughts  of  you. 

IL 

There  is  a  note  within  your  voice 

So  exquisitely  sweet, 
That,  wanting  it,  the  nightingale 

Leaves  her  song  incomplete. 


AND  RECITATIONS. 


119 


And  once  when  woods  were  at  their  best, 

In  prime  of  summer-time, 
I  caught  you  singing  unaware 

A  fragment  of  old  rhyme,  my  dear, 

A  fragment  of  old  rhyme. 
You  gave  a  little  golden  laugh, 

Like  waters  in  the  sun; 
A  ripple  and  a  flash,  my  dear, 

And  a  dimple  when  'twas  done. 
You  chided  me  for  hearing  you, 

And  said  you  sang  not  well; 
But  how  your  song  had  touched  my  heart 

I  did  not  dare  to  tell,  my  dear,  I  did  not  dare  to  tell. 
ILL 

Once  we  rode  together,  your  steed  kept  pace  with  mine ; 

Purple  shone  the  heather  in  the  June  sunshine. 

Underneath  the  alders,  there  we  lighted  down : 

Was  there  more  than  sweetness  in  those  eyes  of  brown? 

All  alone  together,  only  you  and  I — 

Sweetest  of  all  mem'ries,  let  that  mem'ry  lie 

Nearest  to  my  bosom,  dearest  to  my  soul, 

Of  all  recollections  that  make  up  life's  whole ! 

Might  I  not  have  kissed  you  'neath  those  alders  sweet? 

Did  I  only  fancy  I  made  your  heart  beat  ? 

IV. 

Oh,  I  know  that  there  is  bliss 
In  the  meeting  of  your  kiss, 
And  I  dream  that  your  embrace 
Every  woe  of  life  might  chase 
From  my  bosom's  desert  place, 
Yet  I  may  not  tell  you  so. 
One  way,  dearest,  I  must  go, 
And  the  other  you,  I  know. 
Still  I'll  fondly  watch  o'er  you, 
And  in  secret  keep  heart-true 
To  a  love  you  never  knew. 


WERNER'S  READINGS 
V. 

Past  is  the  twilight  hour, 

The  time  I  dedicate  unto  my  dreams : 
It  leaves  me  sadly  like  a  fading  flower 

Amidst  night's  still  star-beams. 
Day  is  too  garish  for  sweet  thoughts  of  you, 

And  night  too  cold; 
Till  the  next  twilight  cometh  then,  adieu, 

Adieu,  my  love,  to  you. 


REAT?   Nay,  the  man  is  never  great, 


When  'neath  ambition's  cruel  yoke 
His  true  soul  prostrate  lies. 

I  hate  a  coward  who  does  not  dare 
To  wear  his  colors  in  his  cap 

And  face  the  world,  his  simple  self, 
No  matter  what  may  hap ; 

Who  cringes  for  the  public  smile, 
And  in  a  masker's  habit  decked. 

For  but  a  little  meagre  fame 
Would  pawn  his  own  respect. 

O  baits  of  fortune  and  of  pride, 
So  paltry  seen  in  heaven's  light, 

That  ye  should  tempt  the  souls  of  men 
From  purest  truth  and  right! 

So  that  I  sometimes  think  that  power 
And  fame  and  wealth  the  soul  assoil, 

And  that  the  patriot  must  be 
Some  humble  son  of  toil, 


A  GREAT  MAN. 


However  high  he  chance  to  rise, 


AND  RECITATIONS. 


121 


Who,  doing  well  his  simple  part 

By  wife  and  babes  and  parents  old, 
Keepeth  a  patriarchal  law 

Within  his  little  fold. 
And  while  his  "betters"  fight  for  place, 

And  many  a  "great  man"  turns  his  coat, 
Goes  calmly  to  the  village  polls 

And  casts  one  honest  vote. 


AURELIA'S  VALENTINE. 

,rTT*WAS  on  the  eve  of  good  St.  Valentine, 

JL  The  patron  saint  of  lovers — mine  awhile, — 
That,  flushed  with  draughts  of  hope's  ambrosial  wine, 

Pressed  from  the  vintage  of  Aurelia's  smile, 
I  sat  me  down  to  write  a  simple  rhyme. 

Thoughts  that  were  honey-sweet 
Sought  to  the  Muse's  temple  still  to  climb, 

Treading  a  measure  to  my  heart's  wild  beat; 
Till  they  were  fit,  methought,  so  bright  to  shine, 

As  to  be  named        Aurelia's  valentine. 
"The  day  may  come  when  I  may  take 

Thee,  best-loved,  to  my  breast, 
As  birds  their  birdlings,  when  they  break 

Their  fairy  prisons,  to  their  nests. 
White-shrined  within  my  heart  have  lain 

The  brooded  dreams,  beloved,  of  thee, 
As  in  their  pearly  shells  the  birds 

Reposed  before  their  wings  were  free. 
And  faintest  chirpings  I  have  heard 

Of  the  sweet  song  I  hope  to  hear 
In  perfect  melody,  my  bird, 

When  I  have  cast  away  all  fear, 
And  thou  art  mine  and  I  am  thine, 

Who  now  am  but  Thy  valentine. 


WERNER'S  READINGS 


"Oh,  bright  shall  be  the  woodland  nest, 

Mine  own,  that  I  will  build  for  thee; 
Life's  beating  storms  may  do  their  best, 

My  bosom  still  shall  shelter  thee; 
And  when  the  spring-time  smiles  are  o'er, 

And  faded  all  the  summer's  prime, 
And  naught  remains  but  winter  hoar, 

With  all  his  woful  frost  and  rime, 
Together,  as  the  glad  birds  flit 

When  autumn  comes  to  tropic  shores, 
We'll  wing  our  happy  way  where  love 

Immortal  dwells  forevermore, 
And  there  shalt  thou  for  aye  be  mine, 

Who  now  am  but 

Thy  valentine." 

'Twas  on  the  morn  of  good  St.  Vale  itine, 

The  patron  s".int  of  lovers — mine  no  more, — 
I  saw  two  shadows  in  the  sweet  sunshine 

Athwart  the  lattice  of  a  cottage  door. 
Only  two  shadows,  but  their  lips  had  met. 

I  passed  and  left  them.   O  sad  heart  of  mine ! 
In  thee  that  golden  dawn  life's  sun  had  set, 

Aurelia  never  read  her  valentine ! 
Down  in  the  wood  I  found  an  empty  nest, 

Untimely  built  where  spring  and  winter  meet, 
Broken  and  soiled,  and  'stead  of  loving  breasts, 

Its  mossy  hollow  filled  with  frozen  sleet. 
The  sight  o'erbrimmed  my  eyes  with  sorrow's  brine 

"Ah  me !"  sighed  I,  "thou  wert  some  poor 

Bird's  valentine." 


PART  THIRD. 

MISGELl2ANE0aS  AcIfRORS. 


124 


WERNER'S  READINGS 


AT  THE  RUG  AUCTION. 


Henry  Baldwin. 


THE  POPULAR  IDEAL  OP  DECORATIVE  ART. 

Dramatis  Persona :  Ferdinand  ;  Ids  Mother  ;  two  Young  Ladies  ;  Bride 

and  Bridegroom. 

IT  IS  MOTHER.  I  don't  know  much  about  this  kind  of  thing, 
you  know  ;  but  the  Potters  say  it's  the  correct  thing  to  have 
rugs,  and  I'm  bound  to  have  them  while  they're  the  rage.  You 
know  your  father  says  I  never  get  anything  till  it  goes  out  of  fash- 
ion, don't  you  know,  and  I  must  say  I  got  ahead  of  him  for  once, 
yesterday.  I  ordered  a  screen  with  storks  and  cat-tails  at  the 
"Decorative  Art."  I  suppose  the  Potters  ought  to  know,  oughtn't 
they,  Ferdinand  ?    They've  been  abroad, 

Ferdinand.    Ya-as!    But  so  has  our  butcher,  don't  you  know. 

His  Mother.  Oh,  that's  a  different  thing.  I'm  sure  Genevra  is 
posted  as  to  what's  what ;  she  studied  art  in  Florence  a  whole 
month  ;  with  the  old  masters,  I  suppose. 

Ferdinand.  Ya-as  ;  some  old  duffer  or  other.  I  say  !  these 
things  have  a  second-hand  look. 

His  Mother.  Why,  of  course.  That's  because  they're  so 
ancient,  don't  you  know  ;  and  the  Pesters  say  they're  not  genuine 
unless  they're  dingy.  The  Potters  are  perfect  amateurs  in  all  this 
sort  of  thing,  don't  you  know. 

Ferdinand.    You  mean  connoisseurs,  don't  you? 

His  Mother.  No,  of  course  I  don't  !  I  took  a  prize  at  school 
in  French  literature,  before  you  were  born.  Where  do  you  suppose 
they  got  so  many  rugs  ?  It  really  makes  me  sad  to  think  of  the 
poor  Persians,  or  Turks,  or  whatever  they  are,  parting  with  their 
treasures  and  living  on  bare  floors,  don't  you  know. 

Ferdinand.  Oh,  they  don't  worry  much  over  it,  I  guess.  I'll 
bet  these  old  things  are  all  made  over  in  Hoboken,  where  they  get 
up  the  antique  furniture,  don't  you  know.    They  smell  bad  enough 


AND  RECITATIONS. 


125 


to  have  come  from  Hoboken,  or  Hunter's  Point,  for  that  matter.  I 
should  think  they  might  have  dusted  them  a  little  before  they  put 
them  on  the  ferry-boat,  don't  you  know. 

His  Mother.  Oh,  hush !  I  want  to  hear  what  these  people 
behind  us  are  saying. 

Young  Lady.  Yes  !  Isn't  it  just  too  oriental  for  anything  ! 
Such  harmony !  Doesn't  it  take  you  right  back  to  the  East  ? 
Doesn't  it  remind  you  of  what's-his-name  in  the  Arabian  Nights  ? 
Why,  how  a  thing  goes  from  you  !    Why,  you  know  ! 

Her  Friend.  Oh,  yes,  of  course.  What-do-you-call-her  told 
him  stories  ? 

Young  Lady.  Yes,  that's  it !  Isn't  it  just  like  that  ?  Do  see 
that  sweet*  prayer  rug!  Can't  you  imagine  a  corsair,  or  some  such 
fascinating  creature,  spreading  it  out  on  the  floor  of  a  Bosphorus — 
no — what  is  it  they  call  them  ? 

Her  Friend.  Why,  I  don't  know.  Perhaps  you  mean  a  mosque. 
Don't  they  pray  in  those  sometimes  ? 

Young  Lady.  Yes.  That's  what  I  meant.  All  tiled,  you 
know,  and  brass  lamps  and  incense  and  bric-a-brac,  and  all  that  sort 
of  thing ;  and  how  angelic  he  must  have  looked,  kneeling  on  it  with 
his  dark  eyes! 

Her  Friend.  You  do  have  the  loveliest  ideas  !  I  never  knew 
any  one  with  such  an  imagination.  You  ought  to  write  poems  and 
have  them  published. 

Young  Lady.  Why,  the  idea !  There's  a  seraphic  thing-a- 
majig!  Where's  the  catalogue  ?  Well,  I  can't  pronounce  it!  The 
beauty  of  it  is  that  they  put  their  whole  soul  into  it.  It's  for  daily 
use,  and  yet  they've  made  it  a  •'''thing  of  beauty  " — you  know  that 
sweet  poem  of  Longfellow's?  That's  Buskin's  idea,  you  know. 
Now,  if  our  artisans  would  only — oh,  that  dust  !  Don't  you  detect 
the  odor  of  sandalwood  ? 

Her  Friend.  Ye-es.  No,  I  don't  think  I  can  go  quite  so  far; 
it  smells  just  like  common  American  dust,  to  me  ;  but  then  I  have 
this  horrid  cold. 

Young  Lady.  You  always  were  too  practical  for  any  use  !  I 
can  fancy  it  the  sand  blown  in  from  the  desert,  don't  you  know ! 


126 


WERNER'S  READINGS 


Perhaps  from  where  the  pyramids  and  the  sphinx  are  ;  stirred  up, 
perhaps,  by  a  passing  caravansary,  or  herd  of  flying  gazelles,  and  a 
swarthy  Arab  pursuing  on  a  camel,  and  all  that,  and  very  likely  a 
stamboul  warbling  in  a  banana  tree. 

Her  Friend.  Well,  Fve  never  been  married — not  but  what  I've 
had  oceans  of  chances— but  if  I  had,  I  wouldn't  make  a  tableau  of 
myself  as  those  people  over  there  are  doing.  You'd  think  they 
were  in  the  middle  of  a  prairie. 

Bride.  No,  darling  !  I  don't  mind  standing,  in  the  least.  I  can 
lean  on  you.    You  don't  mind,  do  you,  Charley  ? 

Bridegroom.  I  should  say  not,  tootsy-pootsy  !  Here,  I'll  put 
my  arm  around  you.  Did  she  want  a  rug  ?  Well,  she  shall  !  I'll 
bid  on  that  one.    Three  ! 

Bride.    Oh,  dearie  !  what  made  you  ?    It's  too  big  for  our  room. 

Bridegroom.    Well,  girlie-pearlie,  can't  you  take  a  reef  in  it  ? 

Bride.  Why,  Charley!  How  it  would  look  !  Besides,  I  can't 
sew  ;  it  hurts  my  fingers. 

Young  Lady.  There  !  It's  gone,  for  ten  dollars!  I'm  mad 
enough  to  cry! 

His  Mother.  You  ought  to  speak  louder,  Ferdinand,  don't  you 
know.    I  believe  we  could  have  got  that  for  seven. 

Ferdinand.    I  thought  you  didn't  want  it. 

His  Mother.  Well,  I  didn't.  I  think  it  was  awfully  ugly,  but 
I  didn't  want  that  long-faced  woman  over  there  to  get  it.  She'd, 
made  up  her  mind  she'd  have  it,  if  the  skies  fell.  Now  there's  a 
beauty ! 

Ferdinand.  What  there  is  left  of  it.  It's  mostly  tatters  and 
moth-holes.  It  ain't  a  bit  handsomer,  now  I  tell  you,  than  the 
old  carpet  in  onr  office.  That's  just  the  correct,  aesthetic  tone  ;  all 
cigar-ashes  and  ink-stains.  The  Governor'd  be  mighty  glad  to 
let  you  have  it.  Then  if  you  got  the  smallpox,  don't  you  know, 
you'd  know  where  it  came  from. 

Bride.  Yes,  darling,  it  is  very  rich  and  chaste,  but  green 
wouldn't  go  with  pink  satin.    It  would  be  horrible. 

Bridegroom.  Well,  I  don't  see  why  one  color  isn't  as  good  as 
another.    Perhaps  you  don't  like  my  blue  trousers  and  my  red 


AND  RECITATIONS. 


127 


cravat,  combined  with  my  yellow  'Derby.  If  there's  a  stylisher 
fellow  in  our  block,  I'd  like  to  see  him. 

Beide.  0  Charley,  how  can  you  suspect  me  of  finding  fault  ? 
You  know  I  think  everything  you  have  and  <s«?/and  do  perfect.  We 
never  will  quarrel,  will  we,  ownie-own  ? 

Bridegroom.  No,  indeed,  lovey.  Let's  get  out  of  this  beastly 
hole  and  go  and  buy  some  brand-new,  clean  matting  like  my  mother 
used  to  use. 

Bride.  Oh,  I  don't  want  matting.  I  don't  see  why  I  ought  to 
have  it,  just  because  your — 

Bridegroom.    Well,  anything  you  say.    [Exeunt,  murmuring.] 

His  Mother.  I  do  wish  that  horrid  woman  in  front  would  keep 
her  umbrella  down.  Eight!  1  bid  eight  !  Ten!  Oh,  why  don't 
he  look  this  way  ?  I  must  sing  out.  Ferdinand,  you  haven't,  the 
breath  of  a  mosquito.    Twelve!    [Stands  on  her  chair. ] 

Ferdinand.  Hold  on,  ma,  you'll  bankrupt  the  whole  concern. 
You've  got  five  already! 

His  Mother.  I  suppose  I  have,  but  it's  so  exciting.  It  really 
is  a  science,  isn't  it?  You  have  to  be  so  discriminating  and  judi- 
cious to  get  real  bargains,  don't  you  know.  What  idiots  some  of 
those  people  made  of  themselves  ;  making  themselves  so  conspicu- 
ous !  Yes,  I'm  ready  to  go.  Have  you  paid  for  the  rugs  ?  Well, 
the  Potters  said  you  have  to  pay  down.  Here's  a  lot  of  silver  I 
want  to  get  rid  of. 

Ferdinand.  Should  think  you'd  want  to,  be  Jove !  There  ain't 
a  dollar  here  that  ain't  plugged. 

His  Mother.  I  do  wish  you  wouldn't  use  slang.  I  can't  under- 
stand a  word  you  say.  That  money's  perfectly  good,  there  isn't  a 
hole  in  one  of  the  pieces. 

Ferdinand.  But  you  can't  pass  a  plugged  piece,  don't  you 
know.    Where  on  earth  did  you  get  it? 

His  Mother.  I  don't  know  and  I  don't  care.  I  don't  see  what 
odds  it  makes.  You  men  are  so  fussy.  A  dollar's  a  dollar,  isn't  it? 
Well,  if  you  must  be  so  unreasonable,  here  are  some  bills. 

Young  Lady.    Say  !  Marie  !  did  you  notice  that  gentleman  who 


128 


WERNER'S  READINGS 


just  went  out  with  his  mother?  You  could  tell  from  his  face  that 
he  was  highly  cultured. 

Her  Friend.  Oh,  the  dear  thing!  Where  is  he?  Oh  yes, 
isn't  his  back  hair  sweet  ?  Well,  let's  go  too.  Bother  the  old  rugs; 
where  you.  going  next, — Huyler's  ?  Well,  I've  got  to  take  the  ele- 
vated. Good-bye  !  be  sure  to  have  three  rows  of  tucks.  [They 
embrace  and  separated] 


HE  SAD  FATE  OF  A  POLICEMAN. 


A  N  officer  stood  at  the  crossing  one  day, 
^       Who  with  answering  questions  was  tired, 
When  a  beautiful  maiden,  passing  that  way, 
The  road  to  the  "  ^epo"  inquired. 

The  weary  policeman  directed  her  straight 
To  the  street  through  which  she  should  go, 

When  an  elderly  lady,  who  seemed  to  be  late 
For  t'he  train,  wished  to  find  the  "  depoe." 

Then  a  man  with  his  arms  full  of  crockery  ware — 

Cups,  saucers,  a  pitcher  and  teapot — 
Came  up  and  inquired,  with  an  anxious  air, 

The  most  direct  route  to  the  "  depot." 

Then  the  officer  gave  the  directions  to  these, 

Though  he  was  annoyed,  it  was  clear  ; 
Then  a  rustic  approached  him  and  said,  "  If  you  please, 

Is  it  far  to  the  '  day^d9  from  here  j* 

A  man  in  pursuit  of  a  runaway  pair 

Came  up,  with  the  speed  of  a  hippo- 
Griff  winging  its  flight  through  the  ambient  air, 

Inquiring  the  way  to  the  "  dipipo." 

The  officer  silently  pointed  the  way  ; 

His  mind  was  in  sad  tribulation, 
For  then  came  an  Englishman,  asking:  "I  say, 

Can  you  tell  me  the  way  to  tlie  station  ?" 


AND  RECITATIONS. 


129 


The  officer's  seen  at  the  crossing  no  more, 
For  something's  gone  wrong  in  his  brain, 

And  his  family  has  placed  him,  his  mind  to  restore, 
In  a  home  for  the  harmless  insane. 

To  visit  him  often  his  old  comrades  go, 
And  he  seems  to  find  some  consolation 

In  asking  them:  "Say,  is  it  tZepo,  depoe, 
Dip^o,  dai/po,  depot,  or  station?" 


A  NEW  VERSION  OF  A  CERTAIN  HIS- 
TORICAL DIALOGUE. 


"      EOKGE,"  said  his  father,  with  a  countenance  more  in  sorrow 
than  in  anger,  "George,  some  one  has  cut  down  my  favorite 
cherry-tree.    Do  you  know  anything  about  it  ?" 

Young  Washington  did  not  quail  before  his  father's  accusing 
glance.  He  looked  him  straight  in  the  eye,  and  an  expression  of 
honest  resolution  gleamed  in  the  clear  eye  and  frank  countenance. 

"My  father,"  he  said,  "  I  will  not  deceive  you.  I  do  know  some- 
thing about  it,  but  that  is  not  the  issue  at  all.  You  have,  in  effect, 
charged  me  with  being  privy  to  the  destruction  of  your  favorite 
tree.  Now,  the  question  is,  since  you  have  filed  information  and 
laid  this  charge  against  me,  what  do  you  know  about  it?" 

"  I  know  that  you  have  a  hatchet,"  replied  the  father  sternly. 
"  I  know  what  a  boy  with  a  hatchet  is  liable  to  do.  I  know  that 
some  one  has  cut  down  my  favorite  cherry-tree — " 

"Stop  right  there  !"  interrupted  the  future  father  of  his  country. 
"  You  say  this  was  your  tree  ?" 
"I  do." 

"How  came  it  yours?" 
"  I  planted  it." 

"Now,  sir,  are  you  certain  it  was  not  on  this  farm  before  you 
came  here  ?" 


ROBERT  J.  BURDETTE. 


130 


WERNER'S  READINGS 


"ISTo,  sir,  it  was  not." 

"  Then  why  did  you  say  so?" 

"  Why  did  I  say  what  B, 

"That's  right;  evade,  quibble,  crawl  out  of  it  somehow.  All 
right.  If  you  don't  want  to  answer  a  fair,  plain,  simple  question, 
you  don't  have  to." 

"  But  I  didn't  say  it  was  on  the  farm  when  I  came  here." 

"  Oh,  very  well,  deny  it.  Is  there  any  other  retraction  you  would 
like  to  make?" 

"  I  don't  retract  anything.  I  merely  declare  that  I  never  said 
t*hat  tree  was  on  the  farm  when  I  came  here." 

"Oh,  well,  father,  don't  get  excited  and  talk  loud.  You  may  go 
back  on  your  entire  statement  if  you  wish.  Perhaps  you  will  next 
try  to  make  us  believe  that  this  farm  wasn't  here,  either,  when  you 
came." 

"  Why,  of  course  it  was  here.    I  don't — " 
"Didn't  you  say,  a  moment  ago,  that  it  was  not?" 
"  That  was  the  tree  !" 

"  Ah,  yes;  you  turn  it  off  on  the  tree  now.    You've  been  talk- 
ing about  the  tree  all  this  time,  then?" 
"Why,  certainly  I  have." 

t{;  Then  you  just  admitted  that  it  was  here  when  you  came  here  ?" 
"No,  my  son;  that  was  the  farm." 

"  But  not  half  a  dozen  questions  ago  you  admitted  that.  You 
said  in  these  very  words :  i  Why,  of  course  it  was  here/  did  you  not  ?" 

"I  said  those  words,  but  I  was  speaking  of  the  farm." 

"And  yet  you  said  but  this  very  moment  that  all  this  time  you 
had  been  talking  about  the  tree.  It  is  useless  to  continue  this 
examination.  My  father,  of  all  human  vices  lying  is  the  commonest, 
and  I  doubt  not  that  it  is  the  worst.  It  blunts  our  moral  sensibili- 
ties; it  leads  us  to  distort  and  exaggerate  simple  statements  of  fact; 
it  blurs  our  powers  of  intelligent  observation,  until  even  a  man  of 
ordinary  scholarship  and  intellectual  development  is  unable  to  tell 
whether  he  is  talking  about  a  farm  or  a  cherry-tree.  The  complaint 
is  dismissed.  I  doubt  very  much  if  you  can  even  establish  the  fact 
that  you  ever  owned  a  tree.    Go  to  the  nursery,  and  if  you  intend 


AND  RECITATIONS. 


131 


planting  a  tree  in  the  place  of  the  one  you  imagine  you  have  lost, 
you  had  better  take  a  man  with  you  to  show  you  the  ground,  lest 
you  might  plant  the  tree  in  your  hat.    You  may  go." 

Sadly  the  old  man  turned  away,  but  he  told  the  man  who  helped 
him  plant  the  new  tree  that  if  he  had  a  hundred  boys  he  wouldn't 
let  another  one  of  them  study  law. 


DIFFICULT  LOVE-MAKING. 


WILL  CARLETOK. 


TL_T  E.  Ethel,  I  love  you,  let  it  suffice, 

My  words  are  earnest,  if  not  o'ernice. 
'Mid  all  the  century's  arts  and  shams, 
My  love  is  as  firm  as 
Huckster  [in  the  street].  Soft-shell  c-l-a-m-s  ! 
He  [recovering].  Fie  on  the  villain  !    Ethel,  my  heart 
Is  yours  forever;  we  must  not  part. 
Often  my  soul,  in  some  lonely  spot, 
Reaches  for  yours,  and  finds  it  not; 
And  breaks  into  still,  tumultuous  sobs — 
Longing— longing  for — 
Huckster  [in  the  street].  Crabs  an'  1-o-b-s — 

L-o-b-s-  t-e-r-s  ! 
He  [indignantly].  Fie  on  the  sordid  wretch, 

Collapsing  my  speech,  with  his  mouth  a-stretch  ! 
Ethel,  I  need,  for  my  heart's  repose — 
Voice  [in  the  street].  Cash  for  ol'  clo's — oP  clo's,  ol'  clo's. 
He  [tenderly].  If  you  will  be  my  life  heart-friend, 

You  shall  have  always 
Voice  [in  the  street].  B-o-i-l-e-r-s  to  mend  ! 
He  [resolutely].  You  shall  have  always  love  and  rest, 

Soothing  you  through  life's  varied  scenes; 

Safe  in  our  Boston  bright  home-nest, 
We  will  e'er  live  on 


132 


WERNER'S  READINGS 


Huckster  [in  street,  shrilly,  and  in  a  tone  of  interrogation]. 

Pork  an'  b-e-a-n-s  ? 
He  [despairingly].  Ever  'tis  thus.    You  see  I  may 

As  well  talk  Greek,  or  Zulu,  or  Hindoo; 

Chaos  intrudes,  whatever  I  say; 
I  will  close  my  speech. 
She  [smiling].  Or,  perhaps,  the  window. 


SUPPOSE. 


T.  H.  ROBERTSOK. 


T^EANK.  Suppose,  Fadette,  that  I,  instead  of  keeping  tryst 
A      With  you  to-night,  had  stayed  away  to  dose; 
Or  call  upon  Miss  Brandt;  or  play  at  whist. 

Suppose — 

Fadette.  Suppose  you  had  !    Think  you  /  should  have  cared  ? 

Indeed,  ain't  you  a  bit  concei — ■  don't  take 

My  rose — a  gift  to  me. 
Fr.  From  whom  ? 

Fa.  Well,  Joseph  Mead,  suppose. 

Fr.  Suppose  it  is.    Then  I'm  to  understand,  Fadette— 
If  I  must  read  your  words  in  plainest  prose, 
My  presence  matters  not  to  you — and — yet 

Suppose— 

Fa.  Suppose  you  are  to  understand  me  so  ? 

You're  free — do  if  you  wish  !    And — 

Oh,  the  river's  froze.    What  skating  we  shall 

Have  to-morrow.    We — that's  Jose — 
Fr.  And  Jose  be  hanged  !    It  seems  to  me,  Miss 

Lowe,  that  you  are  acting  rather  lightly;  rumor 

Goes  that  he — but  since  I  seem  to  bore, 

Adieu.    Suppose — 


AND  RECITATIONS. 


133 


Fa.  Suppose  we  say  good-night — 

Good-night,  sir,  and  good-bye. 
Fr.  What  does  this  mean,  Fadette  ?    Are  you — 
Fa.  We'll  close  this  scene  at  once. 

My  words  are  plain,  sir,  I  suppose. 
Fe.  Compose  yourself,  Fadette. 
Fa.  My  name,  sir,  is  Miss  Lowe. 

Fr.  Come,  come,  Fadette,  do  look  beyond  your  nose — 

Fa.  Here  is  your  ring  ! 

Fr.  I  take  it,  though,  suppose — 

Fa.  Suppose  you  do,  sir, — you — 

Fr.  Enough,  Miss  Lowe,  farewell !    'Tis  best !    Fve  been  deceived 
in  you,  God  knows. 
Coquette  !  a  heartless  flirt !  a  haughty  belle,  who  chose — 
Fa.  Suppose — oh  !  oh,  let's  part  as  friends  !    I  hate  you,  there  ! 
Fr.  Fadette  !  in  tears  ?    This  surely  shows  you'll  pardon  me — 
Fa.  And — Frank — we'll  ne'er  suppose. 


DIFFERENT  WAYS  OF  SAYING  YES. 


Dramatis  Persona:  Miss  Belle;  Dr.  Twist;  Pupils. 
Time :  The  noon  intermission. 

TY/I       -B*  Good-morning,  Dr.  Twist,  Fm  sure  it  is  a  pity 

My  school  is  just  dismissed,  since  you  are  school  committee. 
Dr.  T.  Never  mind,  my  dear  Miss  Belle,  another  time  will  do; 

I  like  it  just  as  well  to  make  my  call  on  you. 
Miss  B.  Loss  to  my  girls  and  boys,  but  I  shall  be  the  winner; 

You  must  excuse  their  noise,  so  many  stay  to  dinner. 
Be  seated,  Doctor. 
Dr.  T.  Thanks;  have  you  a  pleasant  place? 

Miss  B.  Oh,  yes  !    I  like  the  teacher's  ranks — I  shall  serve  here  all 
my  days. 


134 


WERNER'S  READINGS 


De.  T.  Perhaps  not  so,  Miss  Belle,  it  maj  ere  long  be  noted 
You  fill  this  place  so  well  you  ought  to  be  promoted. 
How  do  you  find  your  school  ? 
Miss  B.  Oh,  Doctor,  they  are  queer  ! 

They  do  pronounce  so  strangely,  out  in  the  country  here. 
For  instance,  it  is  funny,  you'd  think  so  too,  I  guess, 
The  many  different  ways  they  have  of  saying  "yes." 
De.  T.  Call  them,  and  questions  ask,  my  interest  is  up. 
Miss  B.  John  Jones,  your  morning  task, — have  you  performed  it  ? 

"  Tup  !" 

Ha,  ha  !  here  is  another,  that  little  Dutchman  raw: 
Peter  Bogle,  is  your  mother  any  better  ! 

"  Yaw  r 

De.  T.  Ask  next  that  black-eyed  gipsy  that  stands  the  window  near. 
Miss  B.  Bessie  Lee,  do  you  like  apples,  would  you  like  to  have  one  ? 

"Yeah!" 

I'll  call  my  little  Pat,  who  is  never  known  to  miss; 
Do  you  love  your  books,  my  lad  ?    Tell  me  truly  ! 

"  Faix  ma'am,  yis!" 
Come  here,  you  curly  pate,  do  you  want  to  be  a  mayor, 
Or  a  president,  or  anything  so  great  as  a  school  committee? 

"A-er!" 

They  give  us  so  much  fun  they  certainly  repay  us. 
Kate,  is  your  problem  done  ?    Have  you  the  answer  ? 

"A-us!"  0 
Is  it  not  a  curious  class,  a  comic  recitation? 
De.  T.  Yes;  and  it  surely  has  my  official  approbation. 
Will  you  my  pupil  be,  while  I  a  question  ask  ? 
Will  you  pronounce  for  me,  if  I  give  you  a  task  ? 
Miss  B.  Of  course,  if  all  the  rest  have  not  been  fully  ample, 

I'll  do  my  best  to  please  with  my  example. 
De.  T.  I  came  to  seek  a  wife.    If  now  my  suit  I  press, 

Will  you  leave  your  school  for  life  ?   What  is  your  answer  ? 
MissB.       *  "Yes/" 


AND  RECITATIONS. 


A  TWILIGHT  PASTORAL. 


T/"  ATIE  takes  her  milking-pail, 

And  to  the  meadows  trips  along; 
As  sunbeams  slant  adown  the  vale, 
She  sweetly  sings  her  milking-song: 
"Heigho!  heigho!  a-milking  I  go  / 
Come  Sjjot  and  come  Bonnie, 
Come  Brindle,  come  Brownie, 
The  sun  fast  is  si7iki7ig, 
The  bright  stars  are  blinking, 
Come  to  me,  my  darlings, 
'Tis  Katie  who  calls  !" 
The  meadows  in  the  gold  rain  glisten, 
The  cricket  stops  his  chirp  to  listen, 

As  o'er  the  grass  the  sweet  voice  rings, — 
And  lo  !  high  on  the  topmost  spray 

A  robin  gaily  sings.  *■ 

Colin  hears  the  sweet  voice  call, 

And  sees  the  kine  go  lowing  to  her; 
No  call  for  him— and  yet  he  goes  ! 
Ah,  twilight  is  the  time  to  woo  he-  ! 
"  Heigho  /  heigho  !  a-milking  I  </u ; 
Come  Spot  and  come  Bonnie, 
Come  Brindle,  come  Brownie, 
The  sun  fast  is  sinking, 
The  bright  stars  are  blinking, 
Come  to  me,  my  darlings, 
9  Tis  Katie  who  calls  !" 
So  Colin  leans  upon  the  bars 
And  wooeth  Kate,  until  the  stars 

Shine  through  the  haze  the  twilight  brings* 
And  still  upon  the  topmost  spray 
The  robin  gaily  sings. 


WERNER'S  READINGS 


The  years  roll  on,  the  summers  go, 
The  grass  springs  green,  the  waters  flow, 
And  Katie,  gray,  with  Colin  sitting — ■ 
He  with  his  pipe,  she  with  her  knitting- — 
As  twilight  shadows  trooping  throng, 
Hears  another  Katie's  song, 
And  sees,  within  the  meadows  fair, 
Another  Colin  wooing  there: 

"  Heiglio  !  heigho  !  a-milking  I  go; 
Come  8pot  and  come  Bonnie, 
Come  Brindle,  come  Brownie, 
The  sun  is  fast  sinking, 
The  bright  stars  are  blinking, 
Come  to  me,  my  darlings, 
9Tis  Katie  who  calls  I" 


WHAT  HE"  WOULD  GIVE  UP. 


XX  J  HEN  mamma  said,  ''Now,  children  dear, 

: Y     You  know  that  it  is  Lent; 
Some  blessing  you  should  sacrifice, 
Which  Heaven  to  you  has  sent/' 
Our  ten-year-old  made  haste  to  say, 

"  You  promised  me  a  dress, 
And  I  say  I  will  give  that  up, 
'Twill  be  enough,  I  guess." 

"  Well,  I  love  sugar  in  my  tea, 

Three  lumps,  and  sometimes  four; 
If  I  agree  to  go  without, 

You  could  not  ask  for  more," 
Said  number  two,  with  thoughtful  face 

And  wisely  nodding  head, 
While  number  three  was  thinking  fast, 

Our  roguish  little  Fred. 


AND  RECITATIONS. 


137 


"I  want  to  div  up  sumfin'  big, 

'Tause  I  ain't  very  dood, 
But  when  my  fings  was  div  to  me, 

I  touldn't  if  I  would." 
Then,  while  his  bright  eyes  shone  like  stars, 

With  manner  calm  and  cool, 
He  said,  "  I  fink  dat  I  will  try 

An'  div  up  doin'  to  school." 


MY  FIRST  SCHOOL. 

T  WAS  a  normal  graduate,  brimful  of  methods  and  with  no  ex- 
*  perience.  This  was  my  first  school,  and  I  had  come  with  a 
trunkful  of  crowded  blank-books,  a  diploma,  and  an  immense 
amount  of  confidence  in  how  I  was  to  proceed.  Well,  the  bell  rang, 
and  in  filed  forty  of  the  wildest,  dirtiest,  roughest-looking  little 
boys  you  ever  saw.  My  committeeman  had  told  me  that  there 
would  be  something  of  a  rough  element.  However,  I  was  not  to  be 
discouraged.  Had  I  not  been  told  at  the  normal  how  many  a  rude, 
uncultured  waif  had,  by  the  untiring  patience  and  the  influence  of 
his  teacher,  come  to  be  a  noble  mcji — a  president  perchance?  All 
this  I  recalled  as  my  prospective  presidents  tumbled,  punched,  and 
pushed  each  other  into  their  chairs.  Taking  advantage  of  a 
moment's  pause  while  the  boys  were  making  a  mental  estimate  of 
my  muscle,  I  opened  school  and  drew  forth  my  record-book,  remem- 
bering that  my  normal  book  said,  "  Get  the  love  of  your  children. 
Get  them  to  feel  that  you  really  need  them."  So  I  said,  with  my 
sweetest  smile:  "Now,  boys,  you  are  strangers  to  me.  I  do  not 
even  know  your  names,  so  first  I  want  you  to  help  me  learn  them. 
You  will  please  answer  as  I  call  the  roll : 

"Jack  McKinney." 

"Prisint."  [Loud.] 

"James  Haley." 

"Prisint."  [Louder,] 

"Joe  Gallagher." 

"He's  got  to  pitch  in  wood."    [Very  loud.] 


138 


WERNERS  READINGS 


"  Patrick  Shannon." 

"  There's  five  Pats  in  this  class,  tacher." 

[Rise  and  shake  the  hand  lustily.] 

"Away  with  yer  now,  there's  only  four." 

"  An'  yer  lyin'." 

"Ther's  five." 

"  Ther's  four." 

"  Ther's  five." 

«  Ther's  four." 

In  this  short  time  I  had  learned  that  child-nature  is  not  always 
what  books  picture  it  to  be.  Then  seizing  upon  a  boy  whose  flying 
missiles  had  just  grazed  my  head,  I  said:  "McKinney,  what  have 
you  under  your  desk  ?•" 

"I've  a  herring,  ma'am." 

"  Bring  that  herring  to  me.  Where  did  you  get  that  herring?" 
<(  At  the  store,  ma'am." 

"At  the  store!  What  in  the  world  did  you  get  that  vile  thing 
for?" 

"  For  a  cint,  ma'am,"  was  the  ready  answer. 

Now  I  had  planned  to  have  a  written  exercise  that  morning  on 
"  bones,"  and  although  my  faith  in  child-nature  was  considerably 
diminished,  I  resolved  to  carry  it  through.  My  exercises  were 
unique,  at  least.  Here  is  McKinney's  own  as  he  read  it  before  the 
school : 

"Bcwes. 

"Bones  is  the  framework  of  the  body.  If  I  had  no  bones  in  me  I 
should  not  have  so  much  shape  as  I  have  now.  If  I  had  no  bones 
in  me  I  should  not  have  so  much  motion,  and  tacher  would  be  glad. 
But  I  like  to  have  motion.  Bones  give  me  motion,  because  they  are 
something  hard  for  motion  to  cling  to.  If  I  had  no  bones  in  me, 
me  brains,  lungs,  heart,  and  larger  blood-vessels  would  be  lying 
around  in  me  and  might  get  hurted.  But  now  me  bones  get 
hurted,  but  not  much,  unless  it  is  a  hard  hit.  If  me  bones  were 
burned  I  should  be  brittle,  because  it  would  take  the  animal  out  of 
me.  If  I  was  soaked  in  acid  I  should  be  limber.  Tacher  showed 
us  a  bone  that  had  been  soaked.  I  should  rather  be  soaked  than 
burned.    Some  of  me  bones  don't  grow  close  to  me  others.    I  am 


AND  RECITATIONS. 


139 


glad  that  they  don't  grow  snug  like  the  branches  of  a  tree,  for  if  they 
did  I  could  not  play  leap-frog  and  other  good  games  I  know.  The 
reason  they  don't  grow  that  way  is  because  they  have  joints.  Joints 
is  good  things  to  have  in  bones.  There  are  two  kinds.  The  ball 
and  the  socket  joint  like  my  shoulder  is  the  best.  Tacher  showed 
it  to  me,  only  it  was  the  thigh  of  a  cow.  One  end  was  hollowed  in 
deep.  That  is  the  socket,  and  it  oils  itself.  It  is  the  only  machine 
that  oils  itself.  Another  joint  is  the  hinge-joint,  like  my  elbow.  It 
swings  back  and  forth,  and  it  oils  itself.  It  never  creaks  like  the 
school  door.  There  is  another  joint  that  don't  seem  much  }ike  a 
joint.  That  is  the  skull.  All  my  bones  put  together  in  their  right 
places  make  a  skeleton.  If  I  leave  out  any  or  put  any  in  wrong 
places  it  ain't  no  skeleton.  Some  animals  have  their  skeletons  on 
their  outsides.  I  am  glad  I  ain't  them  animals,  for  me  skeleton, 
like  it  is  on  the  school  chart,  wouldn't  look  well  on  me  outsides." 


THE  INNOCENT  DRUMMER. 



WITH  RECITATION"  LESSON-HELPS  BY  FRED  WLNSLOW  ADAMS. 


Act  I. — The  Parting. 

"  1\/f  ^  l°ve>  my  only  one  !  The  time  will  soon  be  here  when  I  shall 
be  in  a  position  to  snap  my  fingers  at  fate  and  set  up  as  my 
own  boss.    Then  we  shall  have  no  more  of  these  cruel  partings." 
"And  you  will  be  true  to  me,  love  ?" 

"As  I  always  am.  By  the  way,  you  did  not  forget  to  put  that 
photo  you  had  taken  especially  for  me  into  my  gripsack,  did  you  ?" 

"Oh  dear,  no;  are  you  sure  you  will  look  at  it  sometimes,  love  ?" 

"You  wicked  little  doubter!  you  know  I  should  be  wretched 
without  at  least  such  a  precious  semblance  of  my  darling  one  to 
look  at  daily,  nightly." 

Draw  the  veil  of  charity  over  his  grief,  and  the  treachery  of  one 
in  whom  he  had  such  unbounded  confidence.  In  brief,  she,  his 
only  love,  his  pet,  his  wife,  had  secretly  planned  to  make  him 
wretched.    She  had  taken  that  photograph  from  his  gripsack,  and 


140 


WERNER'S  READINGS 


was  gloating  over  his  misery  when  he  should  discover  that  only 
memory  remained  to  him,  for  the  time  being,  of  his  darling's  looks. 

"  The  dear  fellow,  how  he  will  scold  me  for  the  trick;  but  I  will 
send  him  the  photo  just  as  soon  as  I  hear  from  him." 

Thus  appeasing  her  conscience  she  waited  for  his  first  letter.  It 
came  from  Chicago.    With  eagerness  she  broke  the  seal  and  read : 

"My  Heart's  Delight:  Got  here  0.  K.  this  a.m.  Have  been 
wrestling  with  the  trade  all  day,  and  a  tough  time  I've  had  of  it! 
Weary  and  fagged,  I  have  retired  to  my  room,  shut  out  the  gilded 
atmosphere  of  sin  that  envelops  this  terrible  city,  and  taken  from 
my  satchel  your  sweet  picture.  It  is  before  me  as  I  write.  I  shall 
kiss  it  when  I  have  said  my  evening  prayers.  It  will  rest  under  my 
pillow.  It  is  my  one  solace  until  I  hold  you,  my  darling  one,  in 
these  faithful  arms  again." 

Thus  far  she  read,  and  toppled  over  on  to  the  floor.  What  conso- 
lation she  found  there  it  would  be  hard  to  say;  but  a  great  deter- 
mination rose  with  the  stricken  wife,  who  went  out  an  hour  later 
and  sought  a  telegraph  office. 

Act  II. — The  Drummer  m  Chicago. 

The  drummer  had  been  saying  his  prayers  abroad  on  this  partic- 
ular evening,  and  arriving  at  his  hotel  about  midnight,  tired  and 
exhausted,  he  was  startled  at  finding  a  telegram  from  his  only  love. 
It  was  indeed  a  rude  shock  to  his  spiritual  emotions.  He  was  not 
in  the  habit  of  receiving  such  swift  replies  from  his  pet,  but  one 
could  not  expect  an  outraged  wife  to  transmit  her  feelings  by  the 
slow  mail.    He  read  the  dispatch: 

"  You  are  no  longer  the  only  drummer  that  is  not  a  liar,  as  you 
have  always  claimed.  Let  the  fraternity  make  you  their  chief  in 
the  art.  Had  you  taken  the  pains  even  to  look  for  the  photo  you 
say  your  prayers  to,  you  would  have  discovered  that  I  had,  to  tease 
you,  removed  it.    My  faith  in  you  is  dead,  dead!" 

"What  the  dickens  did  I  write  her  anyway?  By  Jove!  I 
must  have  been  piling  on  the  taffy.  That's  what  a  man  gets  for 
trying  to  make  a  woman  feel  good !  Poor  little  dear,  what  a  fume 
she  must  be  in !    Lucky  for  me  she  gave  her  grievance  away.  0 


AND  RECITATIONS. 


141 


dear,  what  geese  these  women  are.  anyway.  Bless  her  little  noddle, 
her  faith  in  me  shall  be  resurrected." 

Forthwith  he  telegraphed  to  a  knowing  friend: 

"Send  me  first  mail  photo  of  my  wife.  Beg,  borrow,  steal  it 
somehow.    Mum's  the  word.    Will  write  particulars." 

Act  III. — The  Betukn-. 

About  a  week  later  a  drummer,  in  dignified  martyrdom,  stood 
face  to  face  with  a  stern  but  very  wept-out  wife.  She  had  expected 
to  find  him  meek  and  humble,  but  he  gazed  upon  her  with  scorn, 
and  passed  to  his  room  in  silence.  With*  quick  impulse  she  fol- 
lowed, thanking  Heaven  he  had  not  locked  her  out.  After  sur- 
veying him  a  few  moments,  she  opened  fire : 

"  Well,  what  have  you  to  say  for  yourself  ?" 

"I?" 

"Yes,  you." 

"  0  woman,  were  it  not  for  the  overmastering  love  I  bear  you, 
I  should  never  look  upon  you  more  !" 

"  Can  you  explain  the  deception  you  tried  to  practice  upon  me  ?" 

"  Can  you  obliterate  the  insult  put  upon  your  husband  in  that 
unwomanly  dispatch  ?  A  woman  with  so  little  confidence  in  her 
husband  had  better  live  alone.  For  my  part,  I  am  not  only  dis- 
gusted but  disenchanted  I" 

She  holds  the  letter  before  his  eyes:  "Bead  that!  Knowing 
you  had  no  picture  of  mine,  what  was  I  to  think  ?" 

"What  any  intelligent,  right-minded  wife  would  have  thought. 
You  should  have  said:  '  My  husband  is  incapable  of  deceit — he  has 
my  picture  somehow/" 

"But  you  did  not  have  it!" 

"0  woman,  without  an  atom  of  faith!"  He  produced  the 
photograph. 

"0  darling,  forgive  me!  You  did  have  my  picture,  didn't  you? 
This  old  thing,  taken  long  before  we  were  engaged!  Why,  I  didn't 
know  you  ever  had  one  of  these." 

The  restored  confidence  caused  the  pretty  blue  eyes  to  swim  in 
tearful  joy.  She  threw  her  arms  about  his  neck,  begging  his  par- 
don, and  caressing  his  coat-collar 


142 


WERNER'S  READINGS 


"  My  dear,  let  this  be  a  warning.  Never  doubt  me  in  the  future. 
No  matter  what  appearances  may  be,  remember  I  can  always  look 
you  squarely  in  the  eyes  and  say,  '  I  am  innocent/  " 

And  she  believed  him! 


RECITATION  LESSON-HELPS. 

While  gesture  and  emphasis  depend  upon  the  reader's  interpre- 
tation of  a  selection  rather  than  upon  any  fixed  rules,  yet  often- 
times suggestions  may  help  to  an  interpretation  of  the  author's 
meaning;  and  in  a  dramatic  piece  directions  may  be  quite  essential 
to  a  proper  interpretation  with  regard  to  presenting  it  before  an 
audience.    In  this  light  I  offer  the  following  suggestions. 

Act  I. — Announce  your  selection  with  what  explanation  you  see 
fit.  Then  walk  rapidly  down  stage,  right,  with  both  arms  extended. 
Clasping  the  hands  of  your  supposed  wife,  exclaim:  "My  love,  my 
only  one!"  etc.,  and  the  selection  is  opened.  At  the  conclusion  of 
the  speech  "  Then  we  shall  have  no  more  of  these  cruel  partings," 
gently  place  your  right  arm  about  her.  The  drummer  is  a  little 
affected  in  his  devotion,  and  you  should  suggest  this  by  tone  and 
manner. 

His  wife  looks  up  tenderly,  as  if  snuggled  in  his  arms,  with  a  shy 
witchery  in  her  eye  as  she  says :  "And  you  will  be  true  to  me,  love  ?" 

In  reading  the  letter,  make  your  delight  at  hearing  from  your 
husband  apparent,  and  also  the  eagerness  to  know  what  he  has  to 
say  about  the  photo.  Some  comments  as  you  read  along  will 
heighten  the  effect,  as  adding  after  reading  the  line  "and  a  tough 
time  I've  had  of  it,"  the  words  "Poor  fellow!"  and  again  after  the 
line  "which  envelopes  this  terrible  city,"  "the  dear  boy!"  continu- 
ing "and taken  from  my  satchel ," —  look  puzzled  and  repeat,  "and 
taken  from  my  satchel,  your  sweet  picture."  Read  the  rest  slowly, 
emphatically,  at  first  somewhat  bewildered,  but  increasing  in  speed 
and  emphasis  as  the  truth  dawns  at  the  climax,  "until  I  hold  you 
in  these  faithful  arms  again."  With  these  words  crush  the  letter 
in  the  left  hand,  in  which  you  have  been  holding  it,  throw  the  right 
hand  to  your  head  in  despair,  and  stagger  backward.  A  slight 
scream  would  not  be  too  much.    Then  step  forward  to  your  audi- 


AND  RECITATIONS. 


143 


ence,  and  with  a  suggestive  smile  say,  "  Thus  far  she  read  and  top- 
pled over,"  etc. 

Act  II. — The  drummer  reads  the  telegram  in  more  of  a  careless 
manner.  You  might  give  a  low  whistle  after  the  first  sentence. 
As  you  conclude  reading  the  dispatch,  drop  the  head,  run  your 
fingers  into  your  hair,  and  say  meditatively :  "  AVhat  the  dickens 
did  I  write  her  anyway  ?"  Walk  up  and  down  the  stage  meditat- 
ing, and  suddenly  break  into  a  laugh  as  you  exclaim,  "  By  Jove! 
I  must  have  been  piling  on  the  taffy,"  and  finish  in  a  gay  vein. 

Act  III. — She  follows  her  husband  into  his  room.  Look  at  him; 
let  the  muscles  of  the  mouth  twitch,  and  finally  say,  "Well!" 
Wait  as  if  expecting  an  answer;  and  when  none  comes,  make  an- 
other effort :  "  What  have  you  to  say  for  yourself  ?"  Her  courage 
at  this  point  is  somewhat  wavering.  The  drummer  turns  his  head 
toward  her  and  says,  sarcastically,  "  I  ?"  The  answer  comes  with 
more  determination,  "  Yes,  you." 

In  his  retort  a  little  later,  which  closes  with  the  words,  "For  my 
part  I  am  not  only  disgusted  but  disenchanted,"  turn  away  and 
bow  the  face  in  the  hands.  As  the  drummer,  keep  cool  and  speak 
calmly  but  with  force;  you  are  playing  a  part  and  know  your 
ground;  but  as  the  wife,  you  must  appear  agitated,  nervous,  and 
irritable,  which  comes  to  a  climax  in  the  response:  "But  you  did 
not  have  it."  This  is  her  last  stroke.  Then,  as  the  drummer,  you 
hand  the  photograph  to  your  wife,  as  the  text  suggests. 

Her  anguish  is  nOw  at  an  end.  Come  forward  with  extreme  ani- 
mation, throw  your  arms  about  your  husband's  neck,  "  0  darling, 
forgive  me,"  etc.  As  the  drummer  replies  with  mild  but  loving 
reproach,  he  should  look  squarely  into  his  wife's  eyes,  and  end  on 
the  words  "I  am  innocent,"  with  extreme  dignity.  Then  turn  to 
your  audience,  and,  with  a  significant  smile  and  shrug  of  the  shoul- 
ders, end  the  selection,  "And  she  believed  him!" 


144 


WERNER'S  READINGS 


ON  THE  BEACH. 


T_J  E.    Belle,  Fve  sought  you  all  the  morning; 
I  return  to  town  to-day; 
Pardon  if  I  give  no  warning, 
There  is  something  I  must  say. 

She.    Sought  so  long!    You  must  be  weary! 
Are  you  ill?    You  look  quite  pale; 
When  you  go  life  will  be  dreary! 
Well,  I'm  ready  for  your  tale. 

He.    I  can  keep  it  back  no  longer. 

Belle,  I  need  you  in  my  life; 
Will  is  strong,  but  love  far  stronger; 
Dear  one,  will  you  be  my  wife  ? 

She.    Be  your  wife  ?    Your  words  seem  braver 
Than  they  seemed  in  days  of  yore ; 
But  your  love  would  surely  waver 
Now,  as  then.    Please  say  no  more. 

He.    Ah,  you  jest!    Though  once  I  faltered, 
Failed  your  heart  to  comprehend, 
Never  once  my  feelings  altered, 
Not  alone  did  I  offend. 

She.    Was  I  fickle  in  those  hours  ? 

Ah,  perhaps  'twas  better  so; 
'Mid  the  score  that  owned  your  powers, 
My  poor  heart  was  quite  de  trop  I 

He.    So  it  ends,  then  ?    I  have  spoken 
Words  that  live  until  I  die; 
And  you  smile  while  hearts  are  broken! 
Belle,  God  bless  you,  dear!  Good-bye! 


AND  RECITATIONS. 


145 


She.    Good-bye  ?    I  could  always  tease  you ! 
Take  my  hand  before  you  go; 
And/  if  it  would  really  please  you, 
Keep  it,  Jack,  for  weal  or  woe. 


WAR'S  SACRIFICE. 

TT  was  after  the  din  of  the  battle 

A    Had  ceased  in  the  silence  and  gloom, 

"When  hushed  was  the  musketry's  rattle, 

And  quiet  the  cannon's  deep  boom. 
The  smoke  of  the  conflict  had  lifted, 

And  drifted  away  from  the  sun, 
While  the  soft  crimson  light,  slowly  fading  from  sight. 

Flashed  back  from  each  motionless  gun. 

The  tremulous  notes  of  a  bugle 

Rang  out  on  the  clear  autumn  air, 
And  the  echoes  caught  back  from  the  mountains 

Faint  whispers,  like  breathings  of  prayer. 
The  arrows  of  sunlight  that  slanted 

Through  the  trees  touched  a  brow  white  as  snow, 
On  the  bloody  sod  lying  'mid  the  dead  and  the  dying, 

And  it  flushed  in  the  last  parting  glow. 

The  dark  crimson  tide,  slowly  ebbing, 

Stained  red  the  light  jacket  of  gray; 
But  another  in  blue  sadly  knelt  by  his  side 

And  watched  the  life  passing  away. 
Said  the  jacket  in  gray:  "I've  a  brother — 

Joe  Turner,  he  lives  up  in  Maine. 
Give  him  these,  and  say  my  last  message 

Was  forgiveness."    Here  a  low  moan  of  pain 
Checked  his  voice.    Then:  <f  You'll  do  me  this  favor. 

For  you  shot  me;"  and  his  whispers  sank  low. 
Said  the  jacket  in  blue:  "  Brother  Charley, 

There's  no  need,  I'm  your  brother,  I'm  Joe." 


WERNER'S  READINGS 


DAWN  ON  THE  IRISH  COAST. 


H'  ANAM  THO'  DIAH!  but  there  it  is, 


The  dawn  on  the  hills  of  Ireland! 
God's  angels  lifting  the  night's  black  veil 
From  the  fair,  sweet  face  of  my  sire-land! 

0  Ireland,  isn't  it  grand  you  look, 
Like  a  bride  in  her  rich  adorning 

And  with  all  the  pent-up  love  of  my  heart 
I  bid  you  the  top  o'  the  mornin\ 

Ho — ho!  upon  Cliona's  shelving  strand, 

The  surges  are  grandly  beating, 
And  Kerry  is  pushing  her  headlands  out 

To  give  us  the  kindly  greeting; 
Into  the  shore  the  sea-birds  fly 

On  pinions  that  know  no  drooping; 
And  out  from  the  cliffs,  with  welcome  charged- 

A  million  of  waves  come  trooping. 

0,  kindly,  generous  Irish  land, 

So  leal  and  fair  and  loving, 
No  wonder  the  wandering  Celt  should  think 

And  dream  of  you  in  his  roving! 
The  alien  home  may  have  gems  and  gold, 

Shadows  may  never  have  gloomed  it, 
But  the  heart  will  sigh  for  the  absent  land, 

Where  the  love-light  first  illumed  it. 

And  doesn't  old  Cove  look  charming  there, 
Watching  the  wild  waves'  motion, 

Leaning  her  back  against  the  hills, 
And  the  tips  of  her  toes  in  the  ocean  ? 

1  wonder  I  don't  hear  Shandon's  bells! 


JOHN  LOCKE. 


AND  RECITATIONS. 


Ah,  maybe  their  chiming's  over, 
For  it's  many  a  year  since  I  began 
The  life  of  a  Western  rover. 

This  one  short  hour  pays  lavishly  back 

For  many  a  year  of  mourning; 
Fd  almost  venture  another  flight, 

There's  so  much  joy  in  returning — 
Watching  out  for  the  hallowed  shore, 

All  other  attractions  scornin'; 

0  Ireland,  don't  you  hear  me  shout  ? 
I  bid  you  the  top  o'  the  mornin'. 

For  thirty  summers,  asthore  machree, 

Those  hills  I  now  feast  my  eyes  on 
Ne'er  met  my  vision,  save  when  they  rose 

Over  Memory's  dim  horizon. 
Even  so,  'twas  grand  and  fair  they  seemed 

In  the  landscape  spread  before  me; 
But  dreams  are  dreams,  and  my  eyes  would  ope 

To  see  Texas'  skies  still  o'er  me. 

An !  often  upon  the  Texan  plains, 

When  the  day  and  the  chase  were  over, 
My  thoughts  would  fly  o'er  the  weary  wave, 

And  around  this  coast-line  hover; 
And  the  prayer  would  rise  that,  some  future  day. 

All  danger  and  doubtings  scornin', 
Fd  help  to  win  my  native  land 

The  light  of  young  Liberty's  mornin'. 

Now  fuller  and  truer  the  shore-line  shows- 
Was  ever  a  scene  so  splendid  ? 

1  feel  the  breath  of  the  Munster  breeze; 
Thank  God  that  my  exile's  ended. 

Old  scenes,  old  songs,  old  friends  again, 

The  vale  and  cot  I  was  born  in ! 
0  Ireland,  up  from  my  heart  of  hearts 

I  bid  you  the  top  o'  the  mornin' I 


148 


WERNERS  READINGS 


PAT'S  PERPLEXITY. 


"DAT  MUEPHY  had  been  on  a  fishing  excursion,  and  after  re- 
turning  to  land  met  one  of  his  friends,  who  inquired  of  him 
what  luck  he  had. 

u  Oh,"  he  replied,  u  we  had  a  most  illigant  time." 

"  Who  were  of  your  party  ?  "  asked  his  friend. 

"  There  wur  five  of  us.  There  was  mesilf,  one ;  two  Scrogginses, 
two;  Terry  Toole,  three;  Jim  Kasin,  four.  But  there  wur  five  of 
us,  anyhow.  Let — me — see.  There  was  Jim  Kasin,  one;  an' 
Terry  Toole,  two;  an'  mesilf,  three;  an'  the  two  Scrogginses, 
four.  Faith!  an'  it's  strange  that  I  can't  remember  the  fifth  man! 
Now  then — there's  mesilf,  that's  one;  Jim  Kasin,  that's  two;  and 
the  two  Scrogginses,  that's  three;  an'  Terry  Toole,  do  ye  see,  that's 
four;  an' — an'  may  St.  Patrick  fly  away  with  me  if  I  can  find  the 
fifth  man,  at  all,  at  all!" 


THIKHED'S  NEW  YEAR'S  CALL. 


E.  THIKHED  called  on  Miss  Brightlooks  last  Monday,  and, 
from  the  following  conversation,  must  have  enjoyed  his  visit: 
Said  Miss  Brightlooks  :  "1  was  out  in  company  recently  and  met 
three  or  four  strangers." 

"Was  the  president  or  the  treasurer  present?"  Mr.  Thikhed 
replied. 

"  Why,  what  do  you  mean?" 

"  Well,  you  spoke  about  a  company,  and  as  every  company  has 
officers,  I  thought  maybe  some  of  them  were  there." 

"  Why,  I  am  sure  I  expressed  myself  clearly  for  any  ordinary  in- 
tellect, but  if  you  comprehend  my  idea  better  in  other  language,  let 
me  say,  as  simply  as  possible,  that  I  was  one  of  a  number  who  had 
gathered  for  the  purpose  of  amusement." 


AND  RECITATIONS. 


149 


"  In  this  you  differed  from  a  rolling-stone  which  does  not  gather. 
But  you  have  not  told  me  yet  what  you  gathered.  Did  you  omit  a 
word  ?" 

"  No,  I  didn't  and  I  repeat  that  we  had  all  assembled  to  spend 
a  pleasant  evening." 

"  Hadn't  you  any  money  ?" 

"  Money  !    What  has  that  to  do  with  the  case  ?" 

"Well,  I  thought  you  must  have  been  hard  up  if  you  had  to 
spend  the  evening.  It  is  scarcely  to  be  wondered  at,  however,  so 
soon  after  Christmas." 

"  I  had  a  lovely  compliment  paid  to  me  on  that  same  occasion." 

"Did  you  receive  it  in  trade  dollars  or  greenbacks?" 

"  Did  I  receive  what  in  trade  dollars  or  greenbacks  ?" 

"  Why,  the  compliment,  to  be  sure.    You  said  it  was  paid  to  you." 

"  Well,  really,  Mr.  Thikhed,  New  Year  has  had  the  effect  of 
clouding  your  brain.  W^hat  I  meant  to  say  was  that  some  one  made 
a  very  nice  remark  about  me." 

"Indeed!  What  was  it  made  of,  silk  or  satin,  or  perhaps  Maid 
of  Orleans  ?" 

"I  don't  think  there  is  much  use  trying  to  explain  matters  to 
you.    The  more  I  talk,  the  less  you  grasp  my  thoughts." 
"  I  never  take  anything  that  does  not  belong  to  me." 
"Who  said  you  did  ?" 

"No  one  in  particular;  only  if  I  grasped  your  thoughts,  that 
would  be  theft,  for  your  thoughts  are  certainly  your  own  property, 
even  if  they  are  not  worth  more  than  a  penny." 

"You  evidently  put  a  low  estimate  on  my  mental  calibre." 

"  I  am  not  an  appraiser." 

"Who  said  anything  about  an  appraiser  ?" 

"Why,  you  were  speaking  about  how  much  I  think  your  brain  is 
worth,  and  I  repeat  that  I  am  not  in  the  business  of  placing  values 
on  objects." 

Just  then  the  cuckoo  cuckooed  eleven  times,  whereupon  Miss 
Brightlooks  said  :  "  0  Mr.  Thikhed,  I  want  to  tell  you  something 
funny  that  happened  the  other  evening,  but  you  must  promise  not 
to  be  offended." 


150 


WERNER'S  READINGS 


"  How  could  I  be  off  ended  at  anything  you  say  ?" 

"Well,  then,  I  had  a  gentleman  caller,  and  when  he  had  remained 
about  as  late  as  this,  papa  called  down  from  upstairs,  '  Please  ask 
Mr.  Lad-de-dah  whether  he  prefers  toast  or  omelets  for  breakfast/" 

"  Which  did  he  take  ?" 

"  He  didn't  take  either;  he  left  just  about  that  time." 

"  He-he  !  I  didn't  see  anything  comical  about  the  story  at  first, 
but  now  I  see  the  point.  The  idea  of  his  refusing  anything  as  good 
as  toast  or  omelets.  That  was  indeed  real  funny.  He-he!  Now 
if  the  choice  had  been  left  to  me,  I  should  certainly  have  taken  the 
omelets." 

"  Well,  I  can  tell  Susan  to  prepare  some  and  bring  them  in  for 
you  if  you  like." 

"But  this  isn't  breakfast-time!" 

"  Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon;  I  had  forgotten  for  a  moment  that  it 
is  only  a  little  after  eleven." 

"Well,  I  believe  I  shall  have  to  go.  Good-night,  Miss  Bright- 
looks." 

"Good-night,  Mr.  Thikhed;  see  that  you  don't  slip  on  the  ice." 


MR.  AND  MRS.  POPPERMAN. 


"  A/T^  dear,"  sa^  Mrs.  Popperman  to  her  husband  one  evening, 
"I  was  looking  over  a  bundle  of  old  letters  to-day,  and  I 
found  this  one  which  you  wrote  to  me  before  we  were  married, 
when  you  were  young  and  sentimental." 
"  What  does  it  say  ?" 

"I'll  read  it:  '  Sweet  idol  of  my  lonely  heart:  If  thou  wilt  place 
thy  hand  in  mine  and  say  "  Dear  love,  I'll  be  thy  bride,"  we'll  fly 
away  to  some  far  realm — we'll  fly  to  sunny  Italy,  and  'neath  soft, 
cerulean  skies  we'll  bask  and  sing  and  dream  of  naught  but  love. 
Rich  and  costly  paintings  by  old  masters  shall  adorn  the  walls  of 
the  castle  I'll  give  thee.  Thy  bath  shall  be  of  milk.  A  box  at  the 
opera  shall  be  at  thy  command,  and  royalty  shall  be  thy  daily  visi- 
tor.   Sweet  strains  of  music  shall  lull  thee  at  eventide,  and  war- 


AND  RECITATIONS. 


151 


bling  birds  shall  wake  thee  from  thy  morning  slumber.    Dost  thou 
accept?    Say  yes,  and  fly  with  me/    And  I  flew.    But  if  I  had 
been  as  fly  as  I  am  now,  I  wouldn't  have  flown." 
"Why  not,  dear?" 

"Why  not?  Have  you  done  as  you  promised  in  that  letter? 
When  we  were  married,  did  we  ' fly  to  sunny  Italy  and  bask  'neath 
soft,  cerulean  skies/  or  did  we  go  to  Jersey  and  spend  two  weeks 
fishing  for  eels  on  the  edge  of  the  wharf?" 

«  Well,  yes." 

"  And  how  about  the  pictures  ?  You  know  very  well  that  every 
rich  and  costly  painting  in  this  house  is  a  chromo  from  the  tea 
store." 

"Well?" 

"'Thy  bath  shall  be  of  milk/  Do  I  bathe  in  milk,  or  isn't  it 
like  pulling  teeth  every  morning  to  get  ten  cents  out  of  you  to  buy 
milk  for  the  baby?" 

"Kinder." 

"  '  Royalty  shall  be  thy  daily  visitor/    The  only  daily  visitors  I 
have  are  the  book-agents  and  clam -peddlers." 
"  'Taint  my  fault." 

'"  Sweet  strains  of  music  shall  lull  thee  at  eventide.'  The  only 
chance  I  have  to  listen  to  sweet  strains  of  music  is  when  you  and  I 
go  out  walking  at  night  and  follow  a  monkey  and  hand-organ  around 
the  block." 

"  Oh,  I  am  so  sleepy." 

"I  don't  care  if  you  are.  Where  are  the  warbling  birds  you 
promised  me  ?  I  hear  Mrs.  Maginnis's  crowing  roosters  next  door 
every  morning.    Perhaps  they  are  what  you  meant." 

"  Well,  never  mind." 

"  But  I  will  mind.  I  was  to  have  a  box  at  the  opera.  Where  is 
it  ?  The  only  time  I  go  to  the  opera  is  when  you  get  a  bill-poster's 
tickets  to  the  dime  museum." 

"  It's  too  bad." 

"  It  is  really  too  bad.  And  then  you  said  we'd  talk  and  dream 
of  naught  but  love.  Since  I  married  you  we've  talked  and  dreamt 
of  naught  but  rent." 


WERNER'S  READINGS 


STREET  CRIES. 

*T^HE  Englishman's  waked  by  the  lark, 

A-singing  far  up  in  the  sky ; 
But  a  damsel  with  wheel-baritone, 

Pitched  fearfully  high, 

Like  a  lark  in  the  sky, 

Wakes  me  with  a  screech 

Of  "Horse  Red-dee-ee-eech!" 

The  milkman,  he  crows  in  the  morn, 

And  then  the  street  cackle  begins: 
Junkman  with  cow-bells,  and  fish  in  an  with  norn3 
And  venders  of  brushes  and  pins, 
And  menders  of  tubs  and  tins. 
"Wash-tubs  to  mend!"  "Tinware  to  mend!" 
Oh!  who  will  deliverance  send  ? 
Hark!  that  girl  is  beginning  her  screech: 
"  Horse—"  '?  —tubs"  "  Ripe  peach—" 

Then  there's  "  0 — ranges,"  "  Glass topu tin," 
And  bagpipes,  and  peddlers,  and  shams; 

The  hand-organizer  is  mixing  his  din 

With  "  Strawber— "  "  Nice  sof  clams!" 
"  Wash-tubs  to  mend,"  "  Tinware  to  mend!" 
Oh!    Heaven  deliverance  send! 
I'd  swear  if  it  wasn't  a  sin, 
By  " — any  woo-ood?"  "  Glasstoputin!" 

^  Ice-cream!"    I'm  sure  that  you  do! 

And  madly  the  whole  town  is  screaming, 
«  Pie  apples!"  "  Shedders!"  '<  Oysters!"  and  "  Blue- 

Berries!"  with  "Hot  corn  all  steaming!" 
"Umbrell's  to  mend!"    My  head  to  mend! 

How  swiftly  I'd  like  to  send 


AND  RECITATIONS. 


153 


To — somewhere — this  rackety  crew, 
That  keep  such  a  cry  and  hue 
Of  "Hot—"  "Wash-tubs!"  and  "Pop- 
Corn  balls  I" — O  corn-bawler,  stop  ! 
From  morning  till  night  the  street's  full  of  hawkers 
Of  "North  River  shad !"  and  "Ba-nan-i-yoes !" 
Of  men  and  women,  and  little  girl  squawkers — 
"Ole  hats  and  boots  !    Qle  clo'es  !" 
"Times,  Tribune  and  Worruld!" 
"Here's  yer  morning  Hurrold !" 
What  a  confounded  din 
Of  "Horse  red—"  "— toputin !" 
"Ripe—"  "Oysters/'  and  "Potatoes—"  "to  mend !" 
Till  the  watchman's  late  whistle  comes  in  at  the  end. 


THE  FIREMAN. 

R.  T.  CONRAD. 


(A  recitation  in  concert  for  eight  girls,  dressed  in  white  skirts,  red  waists, 
and  red  caps  or  turbans.) 

THE  city  slumbers.    O'er  its  mighty  walls 
Night's  dusky  mantle,  soft  and  silent,  falls; 
Sleep  o'er  the  world  slow  waves  its  wand  of  lead, 
And  ready  torpors  wrap  each  sinking  h^ad. 
Stilled  is  the  stir  of  labor  and  of  life; 
Hushed  is  the  hum  and  tranquillized  the  strife. 
Man  is  at  rest,  with  all  his  hopes  and  fears : 
The  young  forget  their  sports,  the  old  their  cares; 
The  grave  are  careless;  those  who  joy  or  weep, 
All  rest  contented  on  the  arm  of  sleep. 

Sweet  is  the  pillowed  rest  of  beauty  now, 
And  slumber  smiles  upon  her  tranquil  brow; 
Her  bright  dreams  lead  her  to  the  moonlit  tide, 
Her  heart's  own  partner  wandering  by  her  side. 


WERNER'S  READINGS 


'Tis  a  summer's  eve ;  the  soft  gales  scarcely  rouse 
The  low-voiced  ripple  and  the  rustling  boughs ; 
And  faint  and  far  some  minstrel's  melting  tone 
Breathes  to  her  heart  a  music  like  its  own. 

When  hark !  oh,  horror !  what  a  crash  is  there ! 

What  shriek  is  that  which  fills  the  midnight  air? 

'Tis  "  Fire  I  Fire  /  "  She  wakes  to  dream  no  more ! 

The  hot  blast  rushes  through  the  blazing  door ; 

The  dim  smoke  eddies  round ;  and  hark !  that  cry : 

«  Help  !  help !   Will  no  one  aid  ?   I  die— I  die  !" 

She  seeks  the  casement;  shuddering  at  its  height 

She  turns  again;  the  fierce  flames  mock  her  flight; 

Along  the  crackling  stairs  they  fiercely  play, 

And  roar,  exulting,  as  they  seize  their  prey. 

"  Help  !  help  !   Will  no  one  come  ?"  She  says  no  more, 

But,  pale  and  breathless,  sinks  upon  the  floor. 

Will  no  one  save  thee?   Yes,  there  yet  is  one 

Remains  to  save,  when  hope  itself  is  gone; 

When  all  have  fled,  when  all  but  he  would  fly, 

The  fireman  comes,  to  rescue  or  to  die ! 

He  mounts  the  stair — it  wavers  'neath  his  tread; 

He  seeks  the  room,  flames  flashing  round  his  head ; 

He  bursts  the  door,  he  lifts  her  prostrate  frame. 

The  fire-blast  smites  him  with  its  stifling  breath, 

The  falling  timbers  menace  him  with  death, 

The  sinking  floors  his  hurried  steps  betray, 

And  ruin  crashes  round  his  desperate  way; 

Hot  smoke  obscures — ten  thousand  cinders  rise — 

Yet  still  he  staggers  forward  with  his  prize. 

He  leaps  from  burning  stair  to  stair.    On !  on ! 

Courage  !   One  effort  more,  and  all  is  won  ! 

The  stair  is  passed,  the  blazing  hall  is  braved. 

Still  on !  Yet  on !  Once  more !  Thank  Heaven,  she's  saved. 


AND  RECITATIONS. 


HER  FIFTEEN  MINUTES 


TOM  MASSON. 


A  T  exactly  fifteen  minutes  to  eight 
-        His  step  was  heard  at  the  garden  gate. 

And  then,  with  heart  that  was  light  and  gay, 
He  laughed  to  himself  in  a  jubilant  way, 

And  rang  the  bell  for  the  maiden  trim 
Who'd  promised  to  go  to  the  play  with  him; 

And  told  the  servant,  with  joyous  air, 
To  say  there  was  fifteen  minutes  to  spare. 

And  then  for  fifteen  minutes  he  sat 
In  the  parlor  dim,  and  he  held  his  hat, 

And  waited  and  sighed  for  the  maiden  trim 
Who'd  promised  to  go  to  the  play  with  him, 

Until,  as  the  clock  overhead  struck  eight, 

He  muttered  :  "  Great  Scott !  it  is  getting  late;" 

And  took  a  turn  on  the  parlor  floor,- 
And  waited  for  fifteen  minutes  more; 

And  thought  of  those  seats  in  the  front  parquet. 
And  midnight  came,  and  the  break  of  day; 

That  day  and  the  next,  and  the  next  one,  too. 
He  sat  and  waited  the  long  hours  through. 

Then  time  flew  on  and  the  years  sped  by, 
And  still  he  sat,  with  expectant  eye 

And  lengthening  beard,  for  the  maiden  trim 
Who'd  promised  to  go  to  the  play  with  him ; 

Until  one  night,  as  with  palsied  hand 
He  sat  in  the  chair,  for  he  couldn't  stand, 


WERNER'S  READINGS 


And  drummed  in  an  aimless  way,  she  came 
And  opened  the  door  with  her  withered  frame. 

The  moon's  bright  rays  touched  the  silvered  hair 
Of  her  who  had  fifteen  minutes  to  spare. 

And  then  in  tones  that  he  strained  to  hear, 

She  spoke,  and  she  said:  "  Are  you  ready,  dear  ?" 


HOW  SALVATOR  WON. 


ELLA  WHEELER  WILCOX. 


[The  pronunciation  is  Salva'tor.] 
HP  HE  gate  was  thrown  open,  I  rode  out  alone, 

More  proud  than  a  monarch  who  sits  on  a  throne. 
I  am  but  a  jockey,  but  shout  upon  shout 
Went  up  from  the  people  who  watched  me  ride  out. 
And  the  cheers  that  rang  forth  from  that  warm-hearted  crowd 
Were  as  earnest  as  those  to  which  monarch  e'er  bowed. 

My  heart  thrilled  with  pleasure  so  keen  it  was  pain 

As  I  patted  my  Salvator's  soft  silken  mane; 

And  a  sweet  shiver  shot  from  his  hide  to  my  hand 

As  we  passed  by  the  multitude  down  to  the  stand. 

The  great  waves  of  cheering  came  billowing  back, 

As  the  hoofs  of  brave  Tenny  ran  swift  down  the  track; 

And  he  stood  there  beside  us,  all  bone  and  all  muscle, 

Our  noble  opponent,  well  trained  for  the  tussle 

That  waited  us  there  on  the  smooth,  shining  course. 

My  Salvator,  fair  to  the  lovers  of  horse, 

As  a  beautiful  woman  is  fair  to  man's  sight — 

Pure  type  of  the  thoroughbred,  clean  limbed  and  bright, — 

Stood  taking  the  plaudits  as  only  his  due 

And  nothing  at  all  unexpected  or  new. 

And  then,  there  before  us  the  bright  flag  is  spread, 
There's  a  roar  from  the  grand  stand,  and  Tenny's  anead  : 


AND  RECITATIONS. 


At  the  sound  of  the  voices  that  shouted  "A  go!"  » 
He  sprang  like  an  arrow  shot  straight  from  the  bow. 
I  tighten  the  reins  on  Prince  Charlie's  great  son, 
He  is  off  like  a  rocket,  the  race  is  begun. 
Half-way  down  the  furlong  their  heads  are  together, 
Scarce  room  'twixt  their  noses  to  wedge  in  a  feather, 
Past  grand  stand,  and  judges,  in  neck-to-neck  strife : 
Ah,  Salvator,  boy!  'tis  the  race  of  your  life. 

I  press  my  knees  closer,  I  coax  him,  I  urge, 
I  feel  him  go  out  with  a  leap  and  a  surge  ; 
I  see  him  creep  on,  inch  by  inch,  stride  by  stride, 
While  backward,  still  backward,  falls  Tenny  beside. 
We  are  nearing  the  turn,  the  first  quarter  is  passed — 
'Twixt  leader  and  chaser  the  daylight  is  cast: 
The  distance  elongates,  still  Tenny  sweeps  on, 
As  graceful  and  free-limbed  and  swift  as  a  fawn. 
His  awkwardness  vanished,  his  muscles  all  strained — 
A  noble  opponent,  well  born  and  well  trained. 
\ 

I  glanced  o'er  my  shoulder:  hah,  Tenny,  the  cost 
Of  that  one  second's  flagging,  will  be — the  race  lost ; 
One  second's  weak  yielding  of  courage  and  strength, 
And  the  daylight  between  us  has  doubled  its  length. 
The  first  mile  is  covered,  the  race  is  mine — no ! 
For  the  blue  blood  of  Tenny  responds  to  a  blow. 
He  shoots  through  the  air  like  a  ball  from  a  gun, 
And  the  two  lengths  between  us  are  shortened  to  one. 

My  heart  is  contracted,  my  throat  feels  a  lump, 

For  Tenny's  long  neck  is  at  Salvator's  rump, 

And  now  with  new  courage,  grown  bolder  and  bolder, 

I  see  him  once  more  running  shoulder  to  shoulder. 

With  knees,  hands,  and  body  I  press  my  grand  steed  ; 

I  urge  him,  I  coax  him,  I  pray  him  to  heed! 

0  Salvator!    Salvator  !    List  to  my  calls, 

For  the  blow  of  my  whip  will  hurt  both  if  it  falls. 


158 


WERNER'S  READINGS 


There's  a  roar  from  the  crowd  like  the  ocean  in  storm, 

As  close  to  my  saddle  leaps  Tenny's  great  form  ; 

One  more  mighty  plunge,^and  with  knee,  limb,  and  hand 

I  lift  my  horse  first  by  a  nose  past  the  stand. 

We  are  under  the  string  now — the  great  race  is  done — 

And  Salvator,  Salvator,  Salvator  won ! 

Cheer,  hoar-headed  patriarchs;  cheer  loud,  I  say; 

'Tis  the  race  of  a  century  witnessed  to-day! 

Though  ye  live  twice  the  space  that's  allotted  to  men, 

Ye  never  will  see  such  a  grand  race  again. 

Let  the  shouts  of  the  populace  roar  like  the  surf, 

For  Salvator,  Salvator,  king  of  the  turf  ! 

He  has  rivalled  the  record  of  thirteen  long  years; 

He  has  won  the  first  place  in  the  vast  line  of  peers. 

'Twas  a  neck-to-neck  contest,  a  grand,  honest  race, 

And  even  his  enemies  grant  him  his  place. 

Down  into  the  dust  let  old  records  be  hurled, 

And  hang  out  2 :05  to  the  gaze  of  the  world ! 


FORTUNE-TELLER  AND  MAIDEN. 

MRS.  MARY  L.  GADDESS. 

[Costume  Recitation.] 
Gypsy.    T_J  ARK !  my  maiden,  and  I'll  tell  you, 
By  the  power  of  my  art, 
All  the  things  that  ere  befell  you, 

And  the  secret  of  your  heart. 
How  that  you  love  some  one — don't  you  ? 

Love  him  better  than  you  say ; 
Won't  you  hear  me,  maiden,  wont  you, 
What's  to  be  your  wedding-day: 
Maiden".    Ah  !  you  cheat  with  words  of  honev; 

You  tell  stories,  that  you  know  ;  - 
Where's  the  husband  for  my  money 
That  I  gave  you  long  ago  ? 


AA7D  RECITATIONS. 


Neither  silver,  gold,  or  copper 
Shall  you  get  this  time  from  me ; 

Where's  the  husband,  tall  and  proper, 
That  you  told  me  I  should  see  ? 

Gypsy.      Coming  still,  my  maiden,  coming, 
With  two  eyes  as  black  as  sloes  ; 
Marching  soldierly  and  humming 
Gallant  love-songs  as  he  goes. 

Maiden.    Get  along,  you  stupid  gypsy! 

I  won't  have  your  barrack-beau, 
Strutting  up  to  me  half -tipsy, 
Saucy,  with  his  chin  up  so  / 

Gypsy.      Come,  I'll  tell  you  the  first  letter 
Of  your  handsome  sailor's  name. 

Maiden.    I  know  every  one,  that's  better, 

Thank  you,  gypsy,  all  the  same. 

Gypsy.      Ha,  my  maiden,  runs  your  text  so  ? 
Now  I  see  the  die  is  cast, 
And  the  day  is  Monday  next. 
Maiden.       No,  gypsy,  it  was  Monday  last ! 

Gypsy.      Ah,  you  cheat;  no  wonder,  maiden, 
You  are  smiling  bright  to-day, 
Will  not  heed  the  gypsy's  warning, 
Turn  and  proudly  go  your  way; 

For  I  see  .a  dark-eyed  stranger 
Waiting  with  his  merry  smile  ; 

?Tis  no  wonder,  dainty  lady, 
He  can  all  your  fears  beguile. 

Maiden.    Fare  ye  well,  you  naughty  gypsy! 

Sailor-lads  are  not  for  me, 
Neither  gallant  soldier-laddies 
That  you  told  me  I  should  see. 


WERNER'S  READINGS 


Somebody  was  waiting  for  mt 
With  two  eyes  of  bonny  blue  : 

He,  0  gypsy,  he,  my  lover, 
Has  become  my  lover  true. 


THE  FISHERMAN'S  WIFE. 


^HE  wind  bloweth  wildly;  she  stands  on  the  shore: 


She  shudders  to  hear  it,  and  will  evermore. 
The  rush  of  the  waves  as  they  rose  and  they  fell 
Evermore  to  her  fancy  will  sound  like  a  knell. 

"  When,  mother,  dear  mother,  will  father  return  ? 
His  supper  is  ready,  the  sticks  brightly  burn; 
His  chair  is  beside  them,  with  dry  shoes  and  coat; 
I'm  longing  to  kiss  him — oh,  where  is  the  boat  ? 

«  Why  does  he  not  come  with  his  fish  on  his  arm  ? 
He  must  want  his  supper,  he  cannot  be  warm; 
I'll  stroke  his  cold  cheek,  with  his  wet  hair  I'll  play; 
I  want  so  to  kiss  him — oh,  why  does  he  stay?" 

Unheeding  the  voice  of  that  prattler,  she  stood 
To  watch  the  wild  war  of  the  tempest  and  flood; 
One  little  black  speck  in  the  distance  doth  float — 
'Tis  her  world,  'tis  her  life,  'tis  her  fisherman's  boat ! 

Her  poor  heart  beats  madly  'twixt  hope  and  despair, 

She  watches  his  boat  with  a  wild,  glassy  stare ; 

Ah!  'tis  hid  beneath  torrents  of  silvery  spray, 

Ah !  'tis  buried  'neath  chasms  that  yawn  for  their  prey. 

Over  mountains  of  horrible  waves  it  is  tossed, 
It  is  far — it  is  near ;  it  is  safe — it  is  lost ! 
The  proud  waves  of  ocean,  unheeding,  rush  on, 
But  alas!  for  the  little  black  speck — it  is  gone! 


AND  RECITATIONS. 


161 


Oh,  weep  for  the  fisherman's  boat,  but  weep  more 
For  the  desolate  woman  who  stands  on  the  shore! 
She  flies  to  her  home  with  a  shrill  cry  of  pain- 
To  that  home  where  her  ]oved  one  returns  not  again. 

All  night  she  sits  speechless,  her  child  weeping  near, 
But  no  sob  shakes  her  bosom,  her  eyes  feel  no  tear; 
In  heart-broken,  motionless,  stupid  despair, 
She  sits  gazing  on  at  his  coat  and  his  chair. 

Hark !  a  click  of  the  latch — a  hand  opens  the  door ; 
'Tis  a  step:  her  heart  leaps — 'tis  his  step  on  the  floor! 
He  stands  there  before  her,  all  dripping  and  wet, 
But  his  smile  and  his  kiss  have  warm  life  in  them  yet. 

He  is  here,  he  is  safe,  though  his  boat  is  a  wreck; 
He  sinks  in  his  chair,  while  her  arms  clasp  his  neck, 
And  a  sweet  little  voice  in  his  ear  whispers  this: 
"  Do  kiss  me,  dear  father,  I  long  for  a  kiss  \" 


HE  moorland  waste  lay  hushed  in  the  dusk,  of  the  second  day, 


Till  a  shuddering  wind  and  shrill  moaned  up  through  the  twi- 
light gray; 

Like  a  wakening  wraith  it  rose  from  the  grave  of  the  buried  sun, 
And  it  whirled  the  sand  by  the  tree  (there  was  never  a  tree  but 
one) ; 

But  the  tall,  bare  bole  stood  fast,  unswayed  with  the  mad  wind's 
stress, 

And  a  strong  man  hung  thereon  in  his  pain  and  his  nakedness. 
His  feet  were  nailed  to  the  wood,  and  his  arms  strained  over  his 
head; 

'Twas  the  dusk  of  the  second  day,  and  yet  was  the  man  not  dead. 


LE  MAUVAIS  LARRON. 


GRAHAM  R.  TOMSOK. 


162 


WERNER'S  READINGS 


The  cold  blast  lifted  his  hair,  but  his  limbs  were  set  and  stark, 
And  under  their  heavy  brows  his  eyes  stared  into  the  dark; 
He  looked  out  over  the  waste,  and  his  eyes  were  as  coals  of  fire, 
Lit  up  with  anguish  and  hate,  and  the  flame  of  a  strong  desire. 

The  dark  blood  sprang  from  his  wounds,  the  cold  sweat  stood  on 
his  face, 

For  over  the  darkening  plain  came  a  rider  riding  apace. 
Her  rags  flapped  loose  in  the  wind;  the  last  of  the  sunset  glare 
Flung  dusky  gold  on  her  brow  and  her  bosom  broad  and  bare. 
She  was  haggard  with  want  and  woe,  on  a  jaded  steed  astride, 
And  still,  as  it  staggered  and  strove,  she  smote  on  its  heaving  side, 
Till  she  came  to  the  limbless  tree  where  the  tortured  man  hung 
high— 

A  motionless,  crooked  mass  on  a  yellow  streak  in  the  sky. 

"'Tis  I— I  am  here,  Antoine — I  have  found  thee  at  last,"  she  said; 
"  Oh,  the  hours  have  been  long,  but  long!  and  the  minutes  as  drops 
of  lead. 

Have  they  trapped  thee,  the  full-fed  flock,  thou  wert  wont  to  harry 
and  spoil  ? 

Do  they  laugh  in  their  town  secure  o'er  their  measures  of  wine  and 
oil? 

Ah,  God !  that  these  hands  might  reach  where  they  loll  in  their 
rich  array; 

Ah,  God!  that  they  were  but  mine,  all  mine,  to  mangle  and  slay! 
How  they  shuddered  and  shrank,  erewhile,  at  the  sound  of  thy  very 
name, 

When  we  lived  as  the  gray  wolves  live,  whom  torture  nor  want  may 
tame. 

And  thou  but  a  man!  and  still  a  scourge  and  a  terror  to  men, 
Yet  only  my  lover  to  me,  my  dear,  in  the  rare  days  then. 
0  years  of  revel  and  love!  ye  are  gone  as  the  wind  goes  by: 
He  is  snarea  and  shorn  of  his  strength,  and  the  anguish  of  hell 
have  I ! 


AND  RECITATIONS. 


16o 


"  I  am  here,  0  love,  at  thy  feet;  I  have  ridden  far  and  fast 
To  gaze  in  thine  eyes  again,  and  to  kiss  thy  lips  at  the  last." 
She  rose  to  her  feet  and  stood  upright  on  the  gaunt  mare's  back, 
And  she  pressed  her  full  red  lips  to  his,  that  were  strained  and 
black. 

"  Good-night,  for  the  last  time  now — good-night,  beloved,  and 
good-bye — " 

And  his  soul  fell  into  the  waste  between  a  kiss  and  a  sigh. 


HERE'S  lots  of  folks  that  has  good  times, 


There's  lots  that  never  does; 
But  the  ones  that  don't  like  morning  naps 
Is  the  meanest  ever  wuz. 
It's  very  nice  to  eat  a  meal 
With  pie  for  its  wind-up; 
'Tain't  half  so  sweet 's  th'  nap  pa  spoils 
When  he  yells:  "  You  git  up!" 

I'd  rether  lay  in  bed  and  snooze 

Jest  one  small  minit  more, 

In  the  morning  when  the  sunshine 

Comes  a-creeping  o'er  the  floor, 

Then  to  go  to  Barnum's  circus  or 

To  own  a  bull-dog  pup. 

The  meanest  thing  pa  ever  said 

Wuz:  "  Come  now — you  git  up!" 

I  like  to  go  in  swimming, 
And  I  like  to  play  base-ball; 
I  like  to  fight  and  fly  a  kite, 


YOU  GIT  UP! 


JOE  KERR. 


I  sometimes  like  to  bawl; 


164 


WERNER'S  READINGS 


But  them  there  forty  winks  of  sleep 
Pa  tries  to  interrup' 
Is  better V  all.    It  breaks  my  heart 
When  pa  yells:  "  You  git  up!" 

Fd  stand  the  hurt  and  ache  and  pain 

And  all  the  smart  and  itch 

Of  having  him  turn  the  bed-clothes  down 

To  wake  me  with  a  switch, 

Ef  he  'ud  on'y  jest  go'way 

And  let  me  finish  up 

The  nap  I  started  jest  before 

He  yelled  out:  "  You  git  up!" 

You  bet  when  I  git  growed  up  big 

Es  rich  V  old  es  pa, 

'W  never  haf  to  go  to  school, 

Nor  work  nor  stand  no  jaw, 

Fll  sleep  all  night  and  all  day  too, 

And  only  just  git  up 

When  I  git  'nough  sleep  to  suit  me, 

Ef  all  the  world  yells:  "  You  git  up!" 


THE  KNIGHT  AND  THE  LADY. 


ROBERTSON  TROWBRIDGE. 


T  N  the  brave  old  days  of  the  Table  Round 
There  lived  a  night  of  illustrious  fame, 
Who  cherished  a  passion  most  profound, 
A  truly  romantic,  chivalric  flame, 
For  a  proud  and  beautiful  lady. 
And  she — accepted  it  all  as  her  due, 

The  knightly  devotion  so  tender,  so  tried; 
But  when  for  her  love  he  ventured  to  sue, 

((  Who  seeketh  to  woo  me,  must  win  me!"  replied 
This  most  discouraging  lady. 


AND  RECITATIONS, 


165 


Sir  knight,  you  must  wander  a  year  and  a  day ; 

You  must  seek  for  adventures  beyond  the  seas? 
You  must  enter  a  castle  enchanted,  and  slay 

Three  dragons.    And,  having  disposed  of  these. 
You  may  then  come  back  for  your  lady!" 

So  the  good  knight  went,  as  in  duty  bound. 

He  wandered  many  a  weary  mile; 
Adventures  enough  ancl  to  spare  he  found, 

And  he  met  and  braved  them  all  in  a  style 
That  would  quite  have  delighted  the  lady. 

Castle  and  dragons,  he  found  them  too, 
And  settled  their  fate  with  small  delay; 

In  short,  he  carried  the  program  through 
To  the  last  poor  end  of  the  year  and  a  day. 

But  he  never  came  back  for  the  lady  ! 

Fair  maiden,  whose  lover  brave  and  true 
Goes  forth,  at  your  word,  to  seek  a  name, 

Or  honors,  or  riches,  or  rank  for  you ; 

Take  care!  for  perhaps  he  may  do  the  same, 

And  gain  the  place,  and  the  wealth,  and  the  fame, 
But  come  not  back  for  the  lady! 


LEGEND  OF  THE  WILLOW-PATTERN 

PLATE. 

J  I-CHI  was  a  maiden  with  nothing  to  do 

But  to  sit  still  and  dream,  or  sip  tea  (without  cream), 
Or  give  ear  to  the  coo  of  her  doves  (there  were  two), 
Or  eat  sweetmeats,  her  fondness  for  which  was  extreme. 

Her  pa  was  a  mandarin,  wealthy  and  great, 

And  pompous  withal,  a  position  so  big  held  he; 

His  house  and  estate  may  be  seen  in  the  plate, 

Though  portrayed  in  a  style  somewhat  higgledy  piggledy. 


166 


WERNER'S  READINGS 


The  trees,  some  like  feathers  and  some  like  piled  stones, 
Are  quite  a  burlesque  of  the  science  of  botany; 

For  Hooker  would  swear  by  Linnseus's  bones 

That  like  them  in  nature  there  surely  are  not  any. 

How  like  a  bird's  claw  spreads  the  uncovered  root 
Of  the  comical  willow  !    But  queerest  of  trees  is 

The  one  on  the  right,  from  whose  waving  arms  shoot, 

Not  leaves,  but  great  puddings,  as  round  as  Dutch  cheeses. 

But  perhaps  it's  too  bad  to  make  fun  of  old  crockery 
(A  lengthy  digression's  undoubtedly  wrong) ; 

And  our  story  still  less  is  a  subject  for  mockery: 
It  is  so  pathetic,  though  not  very  long. 

A  young  man  named  Chang,  with  a  lovely  pigtail, 
Kept  the  mandarin's  books  of  receipts  and  expenses;1 

And  Li-Chi  at  his  step  would  turn  red  and  then  pale, 
And  a  general  commotion  would  steal  o'er  her  senses. 

For  when  a  young  lady  has  nothing  to  do 
But  to  sit  still  and  dream,  as  related  above, 

The  chances  at  least  are  as  twenty  to  two 
That  her  favorite  dream  is  of  falling  in  love. 

And  their  eyes  having  met — how  or  why  they  knew  not — 

As  she  sat  in  a  balcony  fondling  a  kitten, 
Li-Chi  was  enamored  of  Chang  on  the  spot, 

And  Chang,  in  like  manner,  with  Li-Chi  was  smitten. 

What  happened  was  quickly  suspected,  because 

Li-Chi  every  day  grew  more  pensive  and  "  moony ;" 

And  Chang  couldn't  long  hide  the  fact  that  he  was 
What  the  unsympathetic  are  apt  to  call  spoony." 

With  blushes  as  soft  as  the  tints  of  the  dawn  are, 
She  heard  his  fond  vows — but,  unluckily,  so  did 

Her  pa,  who  then  chanced  to  be  just  round  the  corner; 
And  on  Chang,  with  a  bang,  his  displeasure  exploded. 


AND  RECITATIONS, 


Said  he,  in  deep  tones,  like  the  sound  of  a  gong, 

"These  fine  goings-on  I  object  to  in  toto  ! 
What  next  ?    Go  along!    Get  you  hence  to  Hong-Kong! 

Or  (the  farther  the  better)  the  moon  you  may  go  to!" 

But  as  that  destination  was  not  to  his  mind, 

Chang  fled  to  his  own  island  home  with  his  fair  one; 

(A  view  of  it,  drawn  in  the  pattern,  you'll  find, 

Close  to  where  the  horizon  would  be,  if  there  were  one). 

This  hearing,  the  mandarin,  snatching  a  whip, 

Up  and  down  his  domains  began  wildly  to  tear  about; 

His  mustache  (that  had  hung  like  rats'  tails  from  his  lip) 
Bristling  up  at  an  angle  of  forty  or  thereabout. 

Then,  with  language  profane,  and  with  threats  of  the  cane 

Applied  in  the  manner  they  call  bastinado, 
He  went  in  pursuit  of  Li-Chi  and  her  swain — 

What  less  could  a  parent  who  would  be  obeyed  do  ? 

Now  the  conjurer's  art  and  electro-biology, 

And  such  things,  are  wondrous  and  strange;  but  you'll  see  it 
A  fact,  if  you'll  turn  to  your  heathen  mythology, 

That  they're  fairly  outdone  by  the  tricks  of  the  deities. 

Only  think  of  the  self-transformations  of  Jove  . 

(Who,  if  mortal,  I  fear  would  be  thought  a  sad  dog), 
When,  in  search  of  adventures,  he  sometimes  would  rove 

Far  from  heaven,  and  wanted  to  travel  incog./ 

So  the  gods,  looking  down  through  the  gathering  mists 
At  eve,  saw  the  lovers,  whose  plight  so  concerned  them 

That,  to  shield  them  in  peace  from  the  mandarin's  fists, 
They  graciously  into  two  turtle-doves  turned  them! 

At  the  top  of  the  pattern  you'll  find  them  depicted, 

Each  with  two  pairs  of  wings;  but  you're  left  to  imagine 

The  kicks  upon  innocent  people  inflicted, 

And  the  uproar  the  mandarin  vented  his  rage  in. 


168 


WERNER'S  READINGS 


And  of  such  a  surprising  romance  of  devotion 
As  the  quaint  Chinese  pattern's  designed  to  perpetuate, 

You'll  freely  confess  that  you  hadn't  a  notion, 
When  last  off  a  plate  of  a  blue-willow  set  you  ate. 


MY  LOVE. 


TV/f  Y  love  (dear  man !)  turns  in  his  toes, 

My  love  is  tangled-kneed, 
Cross-eyed,  left-handed,  hair  and  beard 

In  hue  are  disagreed ; 
He  has  no  soft  and  winning  voice, 

No  single  charm  has  he; 
And  yet  this  awkward,  ugly  man 

Is  all  the  world  to  me. 

My  neighbor  Gay  rejoices  in 

A  beauty  of  a  man : 
Straight-limbed,  fair-faced,  and  find  his  peer 

She  knows  no  mortal  can. 
I  look  upon  his  handsome  form 

And  own  'tis  fine  to  see; 
But  turn  back  to  the  homely  man 

Who's  all  the  world  to  me. 


There's  Mrs.  Flirt  and  Mrs.  Chat, 

Each  with  their  cavalier; 
They  smile  and  wonder  how  I  can 

Call  such  a  fright  "  my  dear." 
But  it  is  just  as  strange,  I  think, 

Jiow  they  can  happy  be 
Without  my  homely  man,  for  he 

Is  all  the  world  to  me. 


AND  RECITATIONS. 


Don't  ask  me  why,  I  cannot  tell; 

'Tis  all  as  mystery; 
Fve  sought  myself  a  thousand  times 

Its  secret  history. 
Meanwhile,  my  heart  grows  sad  to  think 

How  drear  this  world  would  be 
Without  this  awkward,  homely  man 

Who's  all  the  world  to  me. 


HPHEY  were  sitting  by  the  fireside, 

On  a  very  frosty  night, 
And  their  heads  were  close  together, 
And  they  talked  of — well — the  weather. 
Or,  perhaps — the  "  Injun"  fight. 

As  their  chat  grew  more  engrossing 

$ear  and  nearer  yet  he  drew, 
Tiil  her  fair  hair  brushed  his  shoulder* 
And  in  trembling  tones  he  told  her 
Of  the — sorrows  of  the  Sioux. 

Then  he  put  his  arms  about  her 

In  the  dimly  lighted  room, 
And  they  saw  naught  but  each  other, 
Never  heard  her  bad,  small  brother 

Stealing  softly  through  the  gloom, 

Till  a  flash  dispelled  the  darkness, 
And  a  shrill  voice  cried  with  glee: 
u  Caught  your  photo— you  and  sister; 
Pa  will  like  to  know  you  kissed  her — - 
Buy  the  negative  from  me 


CAUGHT. 


K.  E.  BARRY. 


WERNER'S  READINGS 


CATCHING  THE  CAT^ 


MARGARET  VANDEGRIFT. 


*T^HE  mice  had  been  in  council; 

They  all  looked  haggard  and  worn  ; 
For  the  state  of  things  was  too  terrible 
To  be  any  longer  borne. 

Not  a  family  out  of  mourning; 

There  was  crape  on  every  hat ; 
They  were  desperate;  something  must  be  done, 

And  done  at  once,  to  the  cat. 

An  elderly  member  rose  and  said: 

"  It  might  prove  a  possible  thing 
To  set  the  trap  which  they  set  for  us— 

That  one  with  the  awful  spring." 

The  suggestion  was  applauded 

Loudly  by  one  and  all, 
Till  somebody  squeaked :  "  That  trap  would  be 

About  ninety-five  times  too  small." 

Then  a  medical  mouse  suggested, 

A  little  under  his  breath, 
They  should  confiscate  the  very  first  mouse 

That  died  a  natural  death, 

And  he'd  undertake  to  poison  the  cat 

If  they'd  let  him  prepare  that  mouse. 
''  There's  not  been  a  natural  death,"  they  shrieked, 
"  Since  thu  cat  came  into  the  house." 

The  smallest  mouse  in  the  council 

Arose  with  a  solemn  air, 
And  by  way  of  increasing  his  stature  ■ 

Eubbed  up  his  whiskers  and  hair. 


AND  RECITATIONS. 


He  waited,  until  there  was  silence 

All  along  the  pantry  shelf, 
And  then  he  said  with  dignity: 

"  I  will  catch  the  cat  myself ! 

"  When  next  I  hear  her  coming, 
Instead  of  running  away, 
I  shall  turn  and  face  her  boldly, 
And  pretend  to  be  at  play. 

**  She  will  not  see  her  danger, 
Poor  creature,  I  suppose; 
But  as  she  stoops  to  catch  me — 
I  shall  catch  her  by  the  nose  !" 

The  mice  began  to  look  hopeful, 
Yes,  even  the  old  ones;  when 

A  gray-haired  sage  said,  slowly : 

"  And  what  will  you  do  with  her  then 

The  champion,  disconcerted, 
Replied  with  dignity:  "  Well — 

I  think,  if  you'll  all  excuse  me, 
'Twould  be  wiser  not  to  tell. 

u  We  all  have  our  inspirations/' 

(This  produced  a  general  smirk,) 

"  But  we  are  not  all  at  liberty 
To  explain  just  how  they  work. 

"I  ask  you,  then,  to  trust  mo; 

You  need  have  no  further  fears; 
Consider  the  enemy  done  for." 
The  council  gave  three  cheers. 

"  I  do  believe  she's  coming," 

Said  a  small  mouse  nervously; 
"  Run,  if  you  like,"  said  the  champion, 
"  But  I  shall  wait  and  see." 


WERNER'S  READINGS 


And  sure  enough  she  was  coming. 

The  mice  all  scampered  away, 
Except  the  noble  champion 

Who  had  made  up  his  mind  to  stay. 

The  mice  had  faith  (of  course  they  had!) — 
They  were  all  of  them  noble  souls, — 

But  a  sort  of  general  feeling 
Kept  them  safely  in  their  holes, 

Until  some  time  in  the  evening, 
When  the  boldest  ventured  out, 

And  saw  happily  in  the  distance 
The  cat  prance  gaily  about. 

There  was  dreadful  consternation, 
Till  some  one  at  last  said:  "Oh! 

He's  not  had  time  to  do  it; 
Let  us  not  prejudge  him  so." 

"1  believe  in  him,  of  course  I  do," 

Said  the  nervous  mouse,  with  a  sigh; 

"  But  the  cat  looks  uncommonly  happy, 
And  I  wish  I  did  know  why." 

The  cat,  I  regret  to  mention, 
Still  prances  about  that  house ; 

And  no  message,  letter,  or  telegram 
Has  come  from  the  champion  mouse. 

The  mice  are  a  little  discouraged, 
The  demand  for  crape  goes  on; 

They  feel  they'd  be  happier  if  they  knew 
Where  the  champion  mouse  had  gone. 

This  story  has  a  moral; 

It  is  very  short,  you  see, 
So  no  one,  of  course,  will  skip  it 

For  fear  of  offending  me: 


AND  RECITATIONS. 


173 


It  is  well  to  be  courageous 

And  valiant  and  all  that; 
But  if  you  are  mice, 
You'd  better  think  twice 
Before  you  catch  the  cat. 


A  LEGEND  OF  ARABIA. 


A  LONG  the  oasis  the  slender  palms 

Stretched  their  clear  shadows,  till  the  fierce  red  sun 
Dropped  suddenly  behind  the  shifting  hills, 
And  all  fell  prostrate,  then,  in  silent  prayer. 
Now,  busy  preparations  for  the  night — 
Unburdening  the  gaunt,  weird  earners  load, 
Pitching  the  flapping  tents,  while  over  all 
Arose  the  oval  of  the  moon  ineffable. 
Silent,  with  fragrant  pipes,  the  circle  sat 
And  listened  to  the  story-teller's  lore 
In  the  strange  golden  light,  intense  as  flame, 
That  made  another  and  a  deeper  day. 

There  was  a  youth,  he  said,  utterly  base. 
Ere  he  could  speak  he  tortured  gentle  beasts, 
Deprived  the  patient  camel  of  its  food, 
And  made  the  children  fear  him  in  their  play. 
Wily  as  the  hyena  in  his  lies, 
Untamable  as  lions  of  the  waste, 
He  drew  too  many  after  him,  as  winds 
Draw  the  long  reaches  of  the  desert  sands. 
As  he  grew  older,  speech  could  never  tell 
His  vices;  he  became  the  village  scourge, 
The  byword ;  every  lip  was  curled  at  him  ; 
Disgust  and  fear  looked  on  him  as  he  passed. 

Ere  he  became  a  man  he  was  accursed, 
Till  all  the  tribe  met  solemnly  one  day 


WERNER'S  READINGS 


To  try  the  criminal;  then  drive  him  forth 
From  out  their  company,  a  wanderer. 
They  sat  in  grave  judicial  circle  there, 
Hushed  for  a  while,  and  in  the  midst  he  stood, 
To  hear  his  sentence— he,  the  vile,  the  lost 
From  the  revered  assemblage  of  his  kin. 
Then  rose  an  ancient  and  gray-bearded  man, 
Accusing  him  of  despicable  crimes; 
Another  followed,  heaping  on  his  head 
Words  of  intolerable  mockery. 

Calm,  low,  and  bitter,  then,  his  brother  spake; 

Each  rose  in  turn  and  told  his  black  disgrace; 

His  father  thundered  forth  his  hideous  shame, 

And  all  the  elders  of  his  family. 

"  Why,  then,"  exclaimed  the  musical,  deep  voice 

Of  the  old  sheik,  "  shall  we  not  drive  him  forth 

Into  the  desert,  there  to  dwell  alone 

With  brutes,  whose  brother  he  has  learned  to  be  ?" 

"  Why  not  ?"  exclaimed  a  voice,  and  forward  sprang 

His  mother,  pale  and  passionate.    *'  Why  not? 

He  is  my  child  !    This  horror  shall  not  be  ! 

There  still  is  life,  is  hope,  for  he  is  young  ! 

It  cannot  be  that  I  have  born  a  fiend; 

And  if  a  devil  hath  possessed  my  boy, 

Love  may  yet  drive  it  forth  !    A  miracle 

May  yet  be  wrought  for  him.    There  yet  is  time  t 

Will  ye  not  wait  ?    Will  ye  be  patient  yet 

A  little  while  ?    Have  I  not  waited  long, 

And  borne  the  torture  and  the  misery, 

Aye  !  the  chief  burden  of  this  weight  of  grief  ? 

Hoping,  still  hoping,  through  the  weary  years; 

Hoping,  still  hoping,  even  now  when  ye 

Would  drive  him  forth,  ye  holy,  from  your  sight, 

Would  scourge  him  to  the  desert,  there  to  die. 


AND  RECITATIONS. 


175 


Wait  !  wait  another  year  !  another  month  ! 
Another  day  !    Your  faces  are  all  hard; 
Your  eyes  are  cruel.    He  shall  not  go  forth  ! 
Or  if  he  goes,  I  go  and  follow  him  !" 

The  boy,  for  he  was  little  more,  stood  by, 

His  wild  eyes  on  his  mother  as  she  fell 

Prone,  supplicating,  fainting  in  the  dust, 

While  one  dry  sob  burst  from  her  burdened  heart. 

Then  he,  too,  knelt,  who  never  yet  had  knelt, 

And  humbly  prayed  for  still  one  trial  more. 

His  face  was  changed,  his  eyes  were  dim  with  tears; 

He  took  his  mother's  band,  and  raised  her  up. 

Deep  grew  the  silence  of  that  company; 

They  gave  no  sentence,  but  each  man  arose 

And  quietly  stole  forth,  and  left  them  there 

Alone  in  the  tribunal,  uncondemned. 

And  in  that  self-same  hour  was  her  reward; 

Then  came  the  miracle  she  waited  for, 

The  strange  new  birth,  the  spirit's  morning  star; 

Her  faith  had  saved  him,  and  the  end  was — peace ! 


CLEOPATRA'S  PROTEST. 


Lie  close  to  my  side,  and  lend  me  your  passion  that  poison  taints, 
While  I  ponder  the  perjured  picture  the  world  of  your  mistress 


The  features  and  life  it  has  painted  and  chiselled  and  molded  and 


Of  Egypt's  Cleopatra  in  every  land  and  tongue ; 


EDWARD  LIVINGSTON"  KEYES. 


paints  ; 


sung 


176 


WERNER'S  READINGS 


On  canvas,  crystal,  china,  in  bronze  and  brass  and  gold ; 
In  malachite  and  marble,  on  coins  and  medals  old  ; 
In  verse  and  prose  and  ballad,  in  history  manifold, 
The  face  and  life  of  Egypt's  queen  are  drawn  and  carved  and  told. 
In  this  galaxy  of  artists,  in  this  gallery  of  art, 
Where  chisel,  brush,  and  pen  have  vied  to  do  their  perjured  part, 
I  see  no  shade  nor  shadow,  no  sign  nor  semblance  see, 
Of  her  who  stood  at  Actium  with  Koman  Antony  ! 
I  fail  to  find  the  features,  the  force  or  spirit  bold, 
Of  her  who  sailed  the  Oydnus  in  her  galley  wrought  in  gold ; 
In  the  character  they  give  me  I  trace  no  sign  nor  mood 
Of  hers,  who  chose  destruction  to  a  life  of  servitude  ; 
Who  bared  her  bosom  proudly  and  perished  like  a  queen, 
Preferring  death  to  Caesar,  and  the  grave  to  Eoman  spleen  ! 
But  I  see  the  spiteful  venom  that  guided  steel  and  hand, 
That  tarnished  as  it  tinted,  and  poisoned  as  it  planned. 
I  see  the  jealous  envy  that  shaped  each  curve  and  turn 
Of  chisel,  brush,  and  pencil  ;  but  naught  of  truth  discern  ; 
And  I  see  what  they  have  made  me,  I  cannot  help  but  see, 
For  what  the  senseless  stone  omits  is  found  in  history. 
The  seal  they  set  upon  me  of  sumptuous  sin  and  shame, 
They  stole  from  frail  Aspasia's  brow  and  Grecian  Phryne's  name. 
I  see  the  perjured  picture  !    I  see  the  wanton  vile 
They  show  for  Cleopatra — "  the  serpent  of  the  Nile 
And  the  eager  world  in  earnest  the  lying  trick  respects, 
And  down  through  coming  ages  the  truthful  type  rejects ; 
But  I  scorn  to  see  the  semblance  in  the  picture  that  they  draw 
Of  her  who  held  Eome  captive,  and  whose  wish  was  Egypt's  law ! 
I  would  bid  them  go  remember,  that  she  whom  they  revile 
Spurned  the  love  of  laurelled  Caesar,  when  he  sought  her  by  the 
Nile, 

And  offered  fame  and  station,  and  the  sovereignty  of  Rome, 

If  she  would  yield  the  conquest,  and  say  she  was  his  own  ! 

That  she  sent  him  back,  with  others,  in  their  regal  robes  unmanned, 

Who  had  come  as  hopeful  suitors  for  Cleopatra's  hand, 

And  bade  them  lay  their  treasures  at  the  feet  of  one  more  free 


AND  RECITATIONS. 


177 


Than  the  spouse  of  Rome's  Triumvir — the  God-like  Antony  ! 
I  would  tell  them  that  the  pious  prude,  Octavia,  whom  they  raise 
Upon  the  highest  pinnacle  of  purity  and  praise, 
Is  not  worthy  of  the  worship  they  offer  at  her  shrine, 
For  she  was  never  Antony's  ;  he  always  had  been  mine  ! 
He  took  her  from  her  regal  home  to  carry  out  his  part, 
But  never  to  his  bosom,  and  never  to  his  heart; 
And  all,  all,  all  of  Antony  this  haughty  dame  can  claim 
Is  the  sacrifice  he  offered  when  he  gave  to  her  his  name  ! 
I  would  tell  them  that  Octavia  knew  his  spirit  and  his  heart, 
His  life,  his  soul,  his  destiny,  his  mind,  his  every  part 
Was  moored  upon  the  Nilus,  together  with  mine  own, 
Before  he  ever  saw  her — by  Caesar's  wish  alone. 
And  she  knew  the  gods  of  Egypt  had  smiled  serenely  down 
On  the  union  of  Rome's  consul  with  Egypt's  starry  crown  ! 
I  would  tell  them  she  they  blemished  with  the  brand  of  sin  and 
shame 

Would  have  scorned  to  call  him  husband  who  gave  alone  his  name  ! 
And  had  that  haughty  Roman  dame  the  spirit  of  a  dove, 
She'd  have  sent  him  back  to  Egypt,  to  her  who  owned  his  love. 

*i»  Hz  *f*  »J»  »i»  *i*  *i* 

I  am  weary  ;  leave  me,  leopard  !  you  cannot  change  your  skin, 
Nor  I  the  haughty  spirit  I  showed  to  all  save  him. 
And  I  thank  the  gods  of  Egypt  for  their  mercy  which  was  shown 
In  giving  me  Mark  Antony  for  all,  all,  all  mine  own  ! 
And  I  thank  the  god  of  waters  for  yielding  me  the  tide 
That  flooded  old  Nile's  bosom,  where  we  rode  side  by  side  ; 
And  to  those  who  call  me  "sorceress,"  and  "serpent  of  the  Nile," 
And  to  those  who  dubbed  me  "  tigress,"  and  everything  that's  vile, 
I  would  say  your  shafts  fell  harmless,  for  we  were  wholly  one, 
And  when  the  pulse  of  one  did  cease,  the  other's  life  had  run. 
So  I  banish  bitter  feelings  for  all  who  did  malign, 
For  'twas  but  human  nature  to  envy  bliss  like  mine  ; 
And  I  rain  forgiveness  on  them  in  pearly  perfumed  showers, 
And  tell  them  that  the  western  world  knew  naught  of  love  like 
ours. 


178 


WERNER'S  READINGS 


TRIED. 


LULAH  RAGSDALE. 


TN  the  chamber  anext  me  the  corpses  sleep, 

And  the  maidens  are  making  them  sweet  with  flow'rs, 
And  the  watchers  wait,  and  the  mourners  weep, 
And  I — keep  count  of  the  hours. 

It  seemeth  a  year  since  the  sun  burned  low, 
And  the  lamps  began  in  that  faint,  pale  way 

To  nicker  athwart  those  sheets  that  show 
The  shapes  that  they  overlay. 

It  is  scarcely  a  year  since  the  morn  I  wed 

My  lady,  with  face  like  an  April  bloom, 
And  hair  like  a  glory  about  her  head, 

And  breath  like  a  spring  perfume. 

My  brother — there  were  of  us  but  the  twain, — 

He  of  the  brow  like  a  polished  stone, 
Whereon  there  has  fallen  no  shadow  nor  stain, 

Nor  blemish  nor  line  is  shown. 

My  brother  grew  grave  on  my  bridal  day  ; 

He  was  young,  he  was  tender,  men  loved  to  swear; 
And  he  said  with  a  sigh,  in  his  gentle  way  : 

"  This  lady  is  very  fair. 

"  Scarce  but  a  child  by  the  count  of  her  years, 

Albeit  she  shineth  so  stately  white; 
And  thy  face  bears  witness  of  time  and  tears, 

Sad  day  and  dolorous  night. 

"  Thy  heart  has  been  wedded  to  dreary  lore, 

From  the  time  when  thou  shouldst  have  laughed  like  me: 
And  thou  art  content  when  the  wild  nights  roar 

Round  our  castle  anear  the  sea. 


AND  RECITATIONS. 


"  But  she  will  be  frighted  and  lone  and  chilled 
In  the  desolate  dimness  of  this  old  place; 

In  this  ghostly  silence  her  laugh  '11  be  stilled, 
Thy  winter  will  blight  her  face." 

The  flowers  bloomed  sweet  at  the  altar  shrine, 
And  the  taper  lights  poured  an  amber  tide, 

The  day  that  I  wed;  but  that  lady  of  mine 
Was  pale  as  a  statue  bride. 

From  the  day  that  she  entered  the  castle  hall, 
She  smiled  not  left,  and  she  laughed  not  right 

But  a  glister  chill  as  a  snowy  pall 
Turned  her  brow  and  bosom  white. 

From  my  study,  I  marked  her  once  on  a  day, 

Out  in  the  lilies,  her  book  above 
Lean  over  the  pages,  and  twice,  thrice  lay 

Her  lips  to  the  lines,  with  love. 

I  searched  that  book,  for  I  fain  had  learned 
To  gain  a  kiss  such  as  it  could  claim, 

I  found  the  tale  by  the  leaf  down  turned— 
On  its  margin  my  brother's  name. 

That  even  I  said  those  lines  in  my  talk 

As  I  passed  those  two,  and  she  paled  to  snow, 

In  the  shine  of  the  moon  down  the  lily  walk, 
Where  she  paced  with  him  to  and  fro. 

In  the  dusk  of  the  study  another  day, 

I  found  them  standing,  and  all  was  hushed; 

Save  that  she  sobbed  in  a  low,  hurt  way, 
And  her  hand  in  his  lay  crushed. 

So  this  was  the  secret  of  things  I  swore, 

My  brother  was  young,  and  my  lady  was  fair; 

Both  false!  though  a  saint's  brow  this  one  wore, 
The  other  had  angel's  hair. 


WERNER'S  READINGS 


At  the  wine  and  the  play  one  night,  when  hot, 
My  temples  throbbed  with  their  wonted  ache ; 

Of  a  drug,  kept  dark  in  an  ancient  spot, 
One  of  the  players  spake. 

I  sought  that  place  foi  the  potent  cure; 

A  wizened  alchemist  let  me  in 
To  his  low,  damp  cell,  on  a  street  obscure, 

Remote  from  the  dust  and  din. 

Scanning  his  labelless  potions  o'er, 

His  withered  hands,  from  a  secret  nook — 

First  noting  that  he  had  barred  the  door — 
A  drop  in  a  phial  took. 

"  Ay  !  many  the  poisons  that  men  have  tried, 
But  this  is  the  surest,"  he  said  to  me ; 

"  And  strange  are  the  deaths  false  women  have  died 
This  brings  the  strangest,"  said  he. 

"/Tis  only  used  on  the  mouth,  and  then 
If  that  mouth  be  kept  for  a  night  or  a  day, 

Free  from  the  press  of  the  lips  of  men, 
The  strength  of  it  passeth  away. 

"  But  pour  it  over  a  passioned  lip, 

And  let  the  crush  of  a  heated  kiss 
Warm  the  drug  to  its  work,  that  sip 

Brings  death  as  certain  as  bliss." 

"I  would  prove  my  love  is  the  purest  wed, 
She  shall  use  your  poison,  and  yet  not  die." 

"'Tis  the  only  drop  in  the  world,"  he  said. 
"  The  sorer  my  need  !"  said  I. 

As  I  reached  the  castle  the  sun  went  down  ; 

I  swear  that  her  face  was  as  pink  as  a  rose, 
And  bright  with  smiling ;  I  said,  'tis  her  gown, 

Or  the  flush  that  the  sunset  throws. 


AND  RECITATIONS. 


I  sought  her  chamber  at  dead  of  night, 

That  smile  and  that  blush  had  not  yet  gone ; 

She  lay  in  a  halo  of  silver  light, 
And  her  brow  like  an  anger's  shone. 

I  fell  on  my  knees  at  her  moon-bathed  feet : 
"Jesu,  the  Pitiful  !  prove  her  but  mine;" 

I  poured  my  tears  on  her  bosom  sweet, 
On  her  lips  that  poison  fine. 

I  rose  with  the  first  wan  light  of  day, 
Across  the  garden  her  gown  I  traced, 

Gleaming  white  thro'  that  silent  gray ; 
Her  lilies  I  crushed  in  haste. 

Lying  among  them  with  upturned  face, 
I  found  her  as  cold  and  crushed  as  any; 

But  what  if  one  finds  in  a  garden  place 
Some  broken  among  the  many  ? 

A  second  path  through  the  blooms  I  made 
To  seek  my  brother  ;  he  slept  as  yet. 

One  quiet  thrust  of  a  keen,  cold  blade, 
And  their  speeding  souls  had  met. 

And  then  I  fell  with  a  sudden  pain ; 

A  thousand  agonies  seized  on  me, 
And  tore  and  knotted  each  throbbing  vein, 

Till  I  could  not  hear  nor  see. 

When  the  spasms  had  ended,  I  found  me  here, 
Already  those  two  they  were  shrouding  there: 

And  her  maid  was  telling,  with  many  a  tear, 
This  tale  as  she  smoothed  her  hair: 

"  My  lady  arose  before  it  was  day, 
Her  husband,  my  lord,  still  soundly  slept; 

And  into  the  room  where  he  always  lay, 
Like  a  spirit  in  white  she  crept. 


182 


WERNER'S  READINGS 


"  I  wondering  watched  as  I  saw  her  slip, 
And  over  his  pillow  lean  low,  and  weep, 

And  kiss  him,  his  brow,  and  hair,  and  lip, 
And  start  as  he  stirred  in  sleep. 

"  And  oft  have  I  heard  her  through  nights  of  old, 
From  her  lattice  lean  toward  the  stars  above, 

And  weep  that  her  lord  was  strange  and  cold, 
And  she  could  not  win  his  love. 

"  His  brother,  ay  !  he  was  her  brother  too, 
For  often  his  comforting  words  I  heard, 

And  he  meant  to  chide  with  my  lord,  I  knew, 
But  some  thief  hath  stolen  that  word." 

'Tis  the  surest  poison  that  men  have  made, 

But  even  death  scorned  me,  let  me  go; 
Or  sleeping  the  power  of  the  drug  I  stayed, 

Or  her  angel  willed  it  so. 

But  I  think,  had  I  waked  'tween  the  dark  and  the  gray 
To  the  touch  of  her  lips,  I  had  been  forgiven; 

Had  I  kissed,  as  she  kissed  me  at  dawning  of  day, 
We  had  gone  together  to  heaven. 


HER  PREFERENCE. 

THEY  stood  on  the  beach  by  the  billowy  sea, 
And  it  seemed  that  the  swift  hours  raced; 
For  he  was  in  love  and  so  was  she, 
And  his  arm  was  around  her  waist. 

"  Oh,  how  I  wish  that  we  owned  a  yacht," 

Said  he,  in  a  wistful  tone. 
"  How  happy  we'd  be,  and  how  bright  our  lot, 

As  we  sailed  o'er  the  seas  alone." 

It  was  time  right  then,  as  it  seemed  to  her, 

Her  preference  to  avow; 
"For  my  part,"  said  she,  "  I  think  I'd  prefer 

A  wee  little  smack  just  now." 


AND  RECITATIONS. 


183 


A  JAPANESE  WEDDING. 


A  BIT  OF  PANTOMIME. 


Arranged  by  Sara  8.  Rice. 


DRAMATIS  PERSONS: 


Go-Between. 


Groom. 


Bride. 


Groom's  Father. 
Groom's  Mother. 
Maids,  Colored. 
White  Robe. 
Colored  Robe 
White  Robe. 
Right. 


Bride's  Father. 
Bride's  Mother. 
Maids,  White. 
Colored  Robe. 
White  Robe. 
Colored  Robe. 
Left. 


Announcement  to  he  made  just  before  the  Pantomime. 

IT  is  thought  that  a  few  words  of  explanation  of  this  oriental 
wedding  may  help  you  to  enjoy  its  festivities  better ;  and  as 
our  object  is  to  give  you  pleasure,  as  well  as  add  to  our  treasury, 
we  will  run  over  its  outlines  very  hastily.  First  of  all,  it  is  very 
unlike  our  own  beautiful  Christian  ceremony,  as  there  is  no  priest 
or  minister  to  ask  God's  blessing  on  the  bridal  pair,  and  never  a 
word  spoken  during  the  whole  ceremony.  Everything  is  done  by 
a  person  called  a  "  Go-Between,"  a  woman  who  acts  the  part  of 
bridesmaid,  priest,  and  general  mistress  of  ceremonies  ;  although 
in  the  higher  castes  of  society  the  bride  is  also  attended  by  eight 
of  her  young  friends,  who  correspond  to  the  bridesmaids  of  our 
ceremony.  Instead  of  preceding  the  bride,  as  with  us,  they  enter 
after  she  has  taken  a  raised  seat  prepared  for  her  and  the  groom, 
and  the  parents  of  both,  and,  .as  they  enter,  they  prostrate  them- 
selves with  the  most  reverential  salaams  in  front  of  the  bride  and 
the  parents. 

The  ceremony  is  largely  made  up  of  drinking  a  great  many  cups 
of  tea,  their  favorite  beverage.  The  eatables  are  small  rice-balls, 
which  no  one  eats  till  all  are  served,  and  then  all  eat  at  once  ;  and 
if  the  noise  they  make  in  eating  is  an  indication  of  their  relish, 
they  must  have  appetites  which  we  Americans  know  nothing  of  ! 
The  bride's  parents  seem  of  little  account  at  the  wedding  compared 
with  those  of  the  groom.  There  are  only  two  presents  made  to  the 
bride,  and  these  by  the  groom's  father  and  mother, — each  a  lacquer 
box  filled  with  jewels  ;  the  one  thought  being  to  decorate  the  per- 
son.   The  pledge  which  binds  the  happy  pair  together  is  made  in 


WERNER'S  READINGS 


the  faintest  whisper  by  the  bridegroom  to  the  "  Go-between/'  who 
delivers  it  to  the  bride  in  the  same  mysterious  manner  that  she 
receives  it  from  the  groom.  The  duties  of  the  bridesmaids  seem 
to  be  to  keep  up  a  wonderful  show  of  reverence  on  the  occasion,  as 
they  are  kept  a  good  share  of  the  time  on  their  knees. 

The  black  patches  observed  on  the  foreheads  of  the  ladies  are 
marks  of  the  highest  caste  among  Japanese  ladies,  and  no  one  else 
dares  to  put  on  the  highly  ornamental  black  patch. 

At  the  time  of  drinking,  you  will  notice  that  they  look  intently 
into  the  bottom  of  their  cups  after  draining  the  last  drop.  This  is 
to  see  the  image  of  the  "  God  of  Love,"  which  is  in  the  wedding- 
cup  of  every  truly  happily  wedded  pair.  The  ceremony  concludes 
with  the  bride  and  groom  drinking  at  the  same  time  from  a  two- 
spouted  teapot,  which  act  declares  to  the  assembled  party  that  they 
will  henceforth  and  forever  live  in  peace  and  harmony,  as  husband 
and  wife  ;  and  we  are  creditably  informed  that  the  vow  is  seldom 
broken. 

This  is  said  to  be  a  correct  representation  of  a  Japanese  wed- 
ding, and  is  vouched  for  by  a  lady  who  was  for  years  a  resident  of 
Japan,  and  herself  witnessed  the  ceremony. 

First,  enter  the  groom's  father  and  mother,  then  the  parents  of 
the  bride,  and  take  their  seats,  which  are  raised.  Both  enter  from 
the  right  of  stage,  the  men  preceding  their  wives,  followed  not 
too  closely  by  Go-Between,  and  close  behind  her  the  bride  and 
groom,  who  together  make  a  salaam,  first  to  his  father,  and  then 
rising,  turn,  and  make  one  to  her  father.  Go-Between  steps  for- 
ward from  one  side,  takes  bride  by  both  hands  and  seats  her, 
making  at  the  same  time  a  very  low  bow,  groom  sitting  down  at 
the  same  time.  The  bridesmaids  now  enter  by  pairs,  one  from 
either  side  of  stage,  one  wearing  a  colored  costume  and  one  a  white. 
They  advance  nearly  to  centre  of  stage,  bow  very  low  to  each  other, 
then  together  approach  bride  and  groom,  making  a  profound  salaam, 
then  to  groom's  parents,  then  to  bride's  parents,  rising  between 
each  salaam.  They  then  take  the  places  on  each  side  of  the  bridal 
party,  kneel,  and  sit  back  on  their  heels,  remaining  so  during  cere- 
mony. But  one  pair  enter  at  a  time,  the  next  following  as  soon  as 
the  preceding  pair  have  taken  their  places. 

Salaams  are  made  by  kneeling  and  touching  the  forehead  to  the 
floor  very  slowly  and  deliberately.  Bows  and  salaams  are  all  re- 
turned by  the  bridal  party^with  a  slight  bow. 


AND  RECITATIONS. 


185 


The  Go-Between  then  goes  out,  and  returns  bringing  a  small 
table,  with  two-spouted  teapot,  and  places  in  front  of  bride  and 
groom ;  she  again  retires  and  returns  with  small  tray  containing 
three  small  cups  and  a  small  teapot.  She  pours  first  for  the  groom, 
who  drinks  from  all  three  cupe,  laying  head  back  and  draining  last 
drop,  looking  intently  into  each  emptied  cup,  the  last  time  showing 
to  the  bride  with  joyful  expression,  having  found  the  god  of  love. 
Go-Between  then  pours  three  cups  for  bride,  who  goes  through  the 
same  motions.  Go-Between  pours  and  hands  each  cup  in  turn, 
three  cups  for  groom's  father,  who  drinks  in  same  manner  and 
shows  his  wife  ;  then  the  bride's  father  does  the  same.  Next,  she 
pours  one  cup  for  each  bridesmaid,  who  drains  last  drop,  looks 
attentively  therein,  but  does  not  show  it. 

Go-Between  carries  tray  out,  returns,  makes  a  salaam  to  the 
groom,  then  rises  while  he  whispers  his  vow  in  her  ear.  Go-Between 
steps  in  front  of  bride  and  groom,  who  rise  ;  bridesmaids  with  one 
accord  touch  their  foreheads  to  the  floor  and  remain  so  while  Go- 
Between,  closely  followed  by  bride  and  groom,  pass  off  the  stage 
to  the  right.  As  soon  as  they  are  out  of  sight,  maids  sit  back  on 
their  heels  as  before  and  remain  until  Go-Between  and  the  bride 
and  groom  pass  behind  curtain  at  the  back  of  the  stage,  and  re- 
appear at  the  left  side  of  stage,  when  they  again  touch  foreheads  to 
the  floor,  and  remain  so  until  bride  and  groom  take  their  places  as 
before,  being  seated  by  Go-Between.  The  bride  has  before  kept 
her  head  bent  and  veil  down  ;  but  now  she  sits  on  the  other  side  of 
groom,  with  head  up  and  veil  thrown  back,  but  with  her  back  turned 
to  the  groom,  facing  his  father,  showing  that  she  has  entered  his 
family. 

Go-Between  retires,  returns  with  table  and  tray  containing  one 
cup  and  teapot,  placing  it  in  front  of  groom's  father,  and  takes  her 
place  behind  bride  and  groom.  Groom's  father  pours  a  cup  of  tea 
and  drinks  it ;  bride  does  the  same.  He  pours  and  drinks  one 
more,  and  presents  lacquer  box,  which  she  accepts  with  low  bow, 
neither  rising.  Go-Between  retires,  brings  in  a  tray  of  rice-balls 
(cocoanut  drops),  which  she  passes  first  to  groom,  second  to  bride, 
third  to  groom's  parents,  fourth  to  bride's  rjarents,  then  to  maids, 
none  eating  till  all  are  served ;  then  begin  k.  *ng,  each  one  smack* 


186 


WERNER'S  READINGS. 


ing  and  making  all  possible  noise  with  lips.  Go-Between  goes  out 
witli  tray,  returns  while  rest  are  eating  and  takes  her  position 
behind  bride  and  groom.  When  through  eating,  groom's  father 
pours  a  cup  of  tea,  drinks  part,  and  hands  to  bride  to  finish.  Then 
groom's  mother  gives  her  present  in  lacquer  box,  which  is  likewise 
received  with  a  low  bow.  Go-Between,  still  standing  behind, them, 
lifts  two-spouted  teapot,  holds  it  between  bride  and  groom,  who 
take  three  drinks  from  it  together.  Of  course  this  can  only  be 
done  by  making  a  pretense  of  drawing  it  through  the  spouts.  Go- 
Between  removes  table  from  before  groom's  father,  returns  and 
leads  bride  and  groom  from  stage,  maids  bowing  as  before  and 
keeping  foreheads  down  till  all  but  themselves  are  off  the  stage. 
As  soon  as  Go-Between  and  bride  and  groom  are  out  of  sight, 
groom's  parents  follow,  then  bride's  parents,  after  which  maids  all 
arise,  advance,  one  couple  at  a  time,  bow  low  to  each  other,  turn 
and  leave  the  stage. 

A  call-bell  is  of  service  in  telling  the  maids  just  when  to  rise. 
By  kneeling  and  putting  the  toes  together,  one  can  sit  on  the  heels 
a  long  time  without  fatigue. 

The  ladies  wear  silk  handkerchiefs  around  their  necks,  as  many 
chain  bracelets  as  can  be  had,  except  the  bride,  who  must  be  in 
pure  white.  The  hair  is  fixed  as  nearly  as  possible  like  the  figures 
•on  fans.  All  are  powdered  white,  with  spots  of  rouge  on  cheek- 
bones and  chin  ;  cover  your  eyebrows  with  very  thin  white  court- 
plaster,  and  mark  the  oblique  eyebrows  in  cork.  Drooping  long 
mustaches  are  for  the  gentlemen.  Dress  the  stage  with  fans,  screens, 
etc.,  to  represent  Japanese  interior.  A  slow  march  played  behind 
the  scenes  during  the  ceremony  will  assist  the  performers.  The 
ladies  chosen  should  be  dark  and  of  low  stature.  Those  wearing 
yellow  vests  belong  to  the  mother-in-law  ;  the  buff  robe  to  the  Go- 
Between.  To  remove  the  shoes  makes  the  salaams  much  easier."  By 
practice  the  two  bridesmaids  can  move  as  one  ;  standing  shoulder 
to  shoulder  will  help  very  much  in  this  particular.  The  chairs  for 
the  bride  and  groom  should  be  high ;  for  the  others,  soap-boxes 
set  on  end  and  covered  with  drapery  answer  nicely.  Go-Between 
stands.  The  stage  must  be  arranged  to  admit  the  party's  passing 
out  at  the  right  dtfd  pa  -entering  at  the  left. 


Stanley  Schell's  Sketches 

Price,  25  cents  each 


Apartment  Hunting 
■At  the  Notion  Counter 
■At  the  Restaurant 
[Bargain  Day 
[Bargain  Hunters 

Baseball-  Game 
■Bicycle  vs.  Wolves 
|Black  vs.  White 
■Blue  and  White  Polka-dot  Shirt 
[Book  Canvasser 
;  Brave  Man  and  a  Toothache 
■Buying  a  Hat 

{Buying  Rugs  in  a  Department 

Store 
■Cheat 
■Cozy  Corner 
KJaisy's  Vacation 
De  Wolf  Hopper  on  Baseball 
Experience  in  Arcadia 
Cossiping  Bridget 
Kotel  Piazza  Ladies 
How  I  Was  Courted 
Kow  Nell  Gets  Even 
Row  She  Helps  Save 
I'm  Engaged 
Icje  Queen 

(nvitation  to  the  City 
t  Was  a  Miracle 
jjst  a  Bowery  Newsboy 


Just  Returned 

Leading  Lady  Seeking  a  Job 

Man  She  Loved 

Mary  Ann  Gilhuly 

Modern  Queen  Esther 

Mop  Agent 

Mrs.  Thompson  Shops 

Pop!  Pop!  Why  Don't  You  Pop? 

Public  'Phone 

Ravings  of  an  Actor 

Revelations  in  Housekeeping 

Skippy's  Vacation 

Slim  Club 

Small  Boy  and  a  Suit  of  Clothes 
Society  Butterfly  and  a  Pudding 
Soldier's  Golden  Wedding 
Solving  the  Vacation  Problem 
'Sylums  vs.  Fresh  Air 
'Tis  the  Finish  of  the  Play 
Told  Over  the  Telephone 
Uncomplaining  Married  Man 
Up-to-date  Proposal 
Up-to-date  Saleslady 
Up-to-date  Society  Child 
Up-to-date  Stenographer 
Village  Seamstress 
Young  Mrs.   Bascom's   First  "At 
Home" 


Catalogue  giving  full  description  of  above-listed 
STANLEY  SCHELL'S  SKETCHES,  sent  free  on  application. 

r  list  of  additional  writings  by  STANLEY  SCHEIX,  apply  to  the  Publishers. 


Address  the  Publishers 

EDGAR  S.  WERNER  &  COMPANY 
43  East  19th  Street,  New  Y-rk 


Graduation  Day 

(Book  'also  knowF  as  "Werner's  Readings  No.  55.") 

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